


I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great)

by Dutten



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Bottom Isak Valtersen, Boy Squad, Break Up, Child Neglect, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Depression, Director Even, Famous Even Bech Næsheim, Fanboy Magnus, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Homophobia, I repeat tags contain spoilers read at your own risk, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Lack of Communication, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Multi, Non-Famous Isak Valtersen, Panic Attacks, Post-Break Up, Recreational Drug Use, SPOILERS IN TAGS LAST WARNING, Same-Sex Marriage, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Shotgunning, Slow Burn, Sneaking Around, Tags Contain Spoilers, Top Even Bech Næsheim, University student Isak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 167,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dutten/pseuds/Dutten
Summary: "Gutter!Guess who is here!" Magnus practically wheezes, unable to keep quiet long enough for any actual guesses to be made. "EvenfreakingBech Næsheim!"Isak's heartstops. Even is here,whyisEven here?"What's going on?" Jonas asks when Isak stumbles."Sorry, I just need to -" he stumbles backwards, bumping into someone accidentally, nearly managing to topple the both of them over.It's either divine comedic timing or something straight out of a tragedy that Isak whirls around to see world-famous movie director Even Bech Næsheim staring right back at him."Isak," Even breathes out.Isak flees.---Or the one where it's been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.
Relationships: Eva Kviig Mohn/Jonas Noah Vasquez, Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen, Magnus Fossbakken/Vilde Lien Hellerud
Comments: 553
Kudos: 1156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. What a fucking journey this has been.
> 
> I started writing this absolute _monster_ of a fic back before I'd posted the third chapter of ["Beat that Record"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159439/chapters/24903975) which is _so_ long ago at this point, and I just wrote down the first part of the scene I had in mind and then forced myself to put it away so I could finish BtR. It wasn't until half a year ago that I _really_ got _a lot_ of writing done, _consistently_ , when I started spending a lot of time commuting on the train.
> 
> And now it's actually here. Two years in the works, and, boy, should you be glad I'm not subjecting any of you to the incredibly inconsistent upload-schedule this would've had. Wow.
> 
> Honestly, I'm so goddamn proud of this fic, I've really fallen in love with the story, and I'm so excited I finally get to share it with everyone!
> 
> It's, uh, it's quite long. Yikes. If you were happy about the length of BtR, then you're going to _love_ this. Something that I've learned about myself when writing such a long, time-consuming fic, is that I use a lot of music - not necessarily when writing, but to get in the mood or to help figure out future scenes, so I'll be making a post on my [tumblr](dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/) sooner or later, listing all of the music I've been listening to, in case you want to follow along as well. Oh, and I am apparently a person who makes spreadsheets.
> 
> Yup. I didn't know that either. Like, legit graphs and diagrams over chapter length and word count progression and how many percentages each chapter is. I - I'm not sure what to do with this information about myself. But it turned out to be a great way to get me to work, because I'd just be staring at those numbers, thinking, _'what if they were **bigger**?'_ It also means I can tell you that the first three chapters are the shortest in the entire story, bar the epilogue.
> 
> So, the entire premise of this story is two people meeting each other at two different points in time and how they impact each other's lives. It switches between being told during the past and the present, each run chronologically. Uploads should be once a week around this time. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Title from _"Something Great"_ by One Direction.
> 
> *Edit*: Link to the [playlist](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624827209277931520/playlist-for-i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too) and [cover art](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624826988509773824/did-i-intend-on-finally-typing-out-the-playlist)!

**_ Present _ **

Isak can do this. He hasn’t had a drink in ages, hasn’t needed to rely on the bliss of alcohol and weed. Hasn’t seen the plentitude of alcohol he’d down before the world around him blended into a blurry mess.

He’s getting better.

It helps that he’s made friends, close friends even – close enough to move into an apartment with them – and that he’s currently surrounded by them. Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus, all currently holding their beers up against each other’s, shouting _skål!_ before clanging the glasses together. Isak hurries to follow them so they won’t notice his mind is elsewhere, even though he’s trying to force it not to be as he’s getting better.

This is going to be _his_ year.

They’re at a private party held by some guy, Mikkel or something, who Magnus knows and who apparently used to attend Bakka, Isak’s not quite sure; he’d tuned out the story once it had lasted more than four minutes without Magnus actually giving any useful information. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate Magnus, really, the guy is great, it’s just… things are hard and Magnus isn’t being all that helpful in relieving Isak from some of the stress he’s under.

The party’s in full swing, more people having shown up than were probably invited, but Magnus also brought the three of them along, so there’s that. It’s crowded and every possible seat in the room has been taken, so they’ve resorted to standing in a back corner in the living room awkwardly, barely any people there visible to them, and those who are, are either using their own corner to hook up in or are simply not noteworthy of interest. Not that Isak’s looking, because the gender the boys are looking at isn’t really what Isak _would_ be looking at were he to look, which he isn’t. He just… can’t.

The boys are all scanning the crowd anyway, and Isak tries to mimic them; the way they’re looking at girls as if they’re on the hunt, and Isak feels his stomach churn because he needs more alcohol to be able to pretend to like girls for an entire night.

A girl tries to make eye contact with him; she’s pretty, he knows the boys would say gorgeous, with short, dark brown hair and revealing clothes. Emma, he knows her name is. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to get with him. He hurries to move his gaze down onto his feet. One shoe has a scuff mark. He tries to rub at it with his other shoe, but it doesn’t really do anything. God, he’d kill to have something stronger than beer right now, but he’s so anxious about drinking anything. He can’t go back to his old habits, can’t relapse, not when everything is starting to look up for him.

He’s not the type to babble when he’s completely piss drunk, but he can feel his heartbeat rise at the mere thought of accidentally revealing anything to the guys.

He takes a swig of his beer. This will have to do.

Jonas leans closer to him. “Go dance with her,” he says, nods towards Emma who is still looking at him, giving him a wide smile she probably thinks makes her looks seductive and makes Isak think she looks constipated, and Isak’s now trapped.

If he says no, Jonas will not only worry something’s going on, but will probably start to wonder why the hell Isak wouldn’t want to dance with a beautiful, willing girl, and Isak can’t have him put two and two together. He _can’t_ , but if he says yes he’ll have to go dance and then the girl will get the wrong impression, and he also doesn’t want to do that when he has no intention of sneaking off to a bedroom or going home with her.

Thankfully he’s saved from having to do anything when Magnus returns from getting more beers. He’s bouncing all over the place and Isak can already feel his body slump from the relief of having the excuse of listening to Magnus talk about some girl he saw.

“Gutter!” Magnus practically shouts even though the volume of the music doesn’t necessarily call for it. “Guess who’s here!”

While Isak knows it’ll give him more time if they guess, literally none of them will have a clue as they didn’t attend the same high school and they only really started spending time together in the last couple of months of their first year in university, about half a year ago now. They know the basics about each other, of course; parents’ names, siblings, other close friends, but a long list of exes, or in Magnus’ case imaginary-exes, hasn’t been completed, meaning the guessing-game doesn’t last very long.

Magnus clearly isn’t bothered by this, though, as he’s practically bouncing off the walls in excitement. Isak can’t help but laugh a little bit because of him. It’s nice being around someone like that, sometimes.

Magnus’ eyes are sparkling and he’s spilling his beer everywhere when he suddenly leans really close to the three of them, as if about to tell a national secret.

“Even _fucking_ Bech Næsheim is here!”

Magnus’ answer makes Isak’s blood freeze and leaves him wanting to curl up or throw up, he doesn’t know. All he hears is an echo of _Even_ and he wants to bolt.

“What?”, “Serr?” he hears Mahdi and Jonas exclaim but he can’t think anything but, _Even is here, why the fuck is Even here_.

None of them really encourage Magnus in his world-famous-director-Even-Bech-Næsheim-obsession – the very same Even Bech Næsheim Isak has spent the last two years hopelessly and unsuccessfully trying not to think about – but they also don’t _dis_ courage him – all except Isak who sometimes can’t keep his temper and mouth in check – and he can tell how happy Magnus is from at least Jonas and Mahdi indulging him when he has a chance to meet his idol.

“What’s he doing here?” Isak can’t help but ask.

He sees, but he barely registers the warning glance Jonas sends him. He feels distanced from all of them, like he’s watching everything from someone else’s point of view, through someone else’s eyes.

“Apparently he knows the guy holding the party as well? They were like, best friends or something. Can you believe I know _Even Bech Næsheim’s_ best friend from high school? How fucking crazy is that?!”

_How fucking crazy, yeah_ , Isak can’t help but think and bottoms his beer.

“What should I say to him?” Magnus has apparently forgotten the open beer bottle in his hand because he’s swinging it left and right, “should I even say anything to him? Oh god, what if he doesn’t want attention brought onto him?”

Isak can’t help but snort. Yeah, fucking likely – what _hasn’t_ Even done to get in the spotlight, Magnus should only know.

Jonas removes Magnus’ bottle when he nearly manages to dump it onto Jonas’ new shirt, putting it a bit harshly onto the table next to them.

“Of course you should talk to him!” Jonas encourages and Magnus preens since he got the answer he really hoped they would give him.

“But what should I say?”

“Just be cool,” Mahdi said, taking a swig of his beer, “just tell him you really enjoy his work and are looking forward to the next movie, and if he’d maybe like to give you an autograph.”

“Be polite,” Jonas supplies, “don’t be too desperate or come on too strong, you don’t want him to be scared of you.”

Magnus looks a mix between crestfallen and scared. “What if I mess up?”

Jonas and Mahdi quickly try to calm Magnus down and keep him from psyching himself out. Meanwhile Isak feels close to dying. He can’t catch his breath and the room is spinning and he’s nearly willing to jump out of the window. He can’t do this again. He can’t. He can’t see Even, he was getting _better_ , he can’t-

He stumbles forward, catching the other boys’ attentions.

“What’s going on?” Jonas asks, glancing at him judgingly. Isak knows why, he hasn’t exactly masked his distaste of Even around the guys, and he knows Jonas is probably thinking he should be a better friend and help Magnus right now, because even though Isak isn’t a fan, Magnus is, and it is the least he could do as a friend.

But it’s not that simple, and Isak can’t _tell him_ that.

He turns around to face the boys, now standing with his back against the crowd rather than the wall. “Sorry,” he slurs, tries to avoid their judging, shocked, and worried gazes, “I just… I’ve just got… I need to get a drink.”

Isak starts to back up as if he’s heading towards the kitchen backwards. Magnus pointedly glances at their full case of beer that Isak is leaving behind, clearly ready to question Isak about it, when Isak suddenly bumps into someone.

“Hey, be careful!” Someone shouts, not even the person Isak nearly managed to topple over. Both he and the person hurry to turn around, a ‘ _sorry_ ’ already about to fall off Isak’s lips, and –

Isak feels faint and mentally swears at himself. _Just his fucking luck_. 

The one and only Even Bech Næsheim is standing in front of him, looking just as shocked as Isak presumes he himself looks.

Isak can’t help but note that he looks _good_ ; healthy and fucking gorgeous, wearing his now signature quiff and jean jacket, his right hand weakly clutching a glass of some drink, Isak doesn’t know, might just be beer. He can’t breathe; he feels like crying, thinks he might start any minute now. It’s not fair.

He vaguely registers Magnus’ gasp at the turn of the events and he notices the guy behind Even with the long brown hair staring at the two of them intensely. It’s Mikael’s party then, Isak can’t help but think. Mikael, not Mikkel. Not that he would have known the difference as he’s never actually met the guy.

Everything is so quiet. He can’t hear the party still going on, he can’t hear anything but the sound of his pulse rushing through his body, making him feel both queasy and dizzy and he’s ready to just _sob_.

“Isak,” Even finally breathes out, and Isak nearly chokes on his next breath, because, _god_ , it’s been so long since he’s heard Even say his name, and it _hurts_ , it _fucking hurts_ , it feels like Even is breaking his heart all over again when he’d finally managed to tape the few remaining, uneven shards together into a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Isak knows he’s opening and closing his mouth, gaping like a fish, but he can’t think, can’t breathe, and he ends up doing the thing he’d wanted to do since before he even heard Even was at the party.

He flees.

**_ Past _ **

The day Isak meets Even is a shit one. Proper shit, even.

He’d forgotten all about the “creative” biology assignment due early tomorrow morning, and Elias and his friends had caught him unaware earlier today, and his body aches from their meeting, his eye slightly swollen and definitely a dark purple color by now.

The biology assignment, he can’t help but think, is the worst thing right now, though, as it’s way too late for him to be out on the streets of Oslo, let alone all alone in Birkelunden in the middle of Grünerløkka. He’s not quite sure why he’s chosen this park of all of them; it’s mostly used for entertainment and markets, but they have a variety of flowers planted around the park in small segments, and he’d hoped he would be able to just take a few pictures and then get to leave, but it’s getting _so_ late by now and he still hasn’t managed to take enough pictures of these fucking plants.

He loves biology, he really does, just… maybe not so much this part of biology. The nature part.

He’s lying down on his stomach, feels the cold from the ground seep in under his shirt and hoodie, and he’s been trying to take a picture of these fucking flowers and their leaves for the past five minutes. He’s getting grumpier by the second as the flash on his phone only manages to blend out several features of the flowers, therefore making the picture unusable. He really needs to make this assignment his best one yet. A lot of things depend on this, amongst others his dad believing he’s adult enough to move away from home.

He’s about to snap another picture. This will be the shot, it _has_ to be.

“Hey!” A voice startles him and makes him draw his phone close to his chest, shaking the picture leaving it a blurry mess.

Isak sighs. It would’ve been the shot as well.

The guy who’d shouted is standing right behind him, and Isak doesn’t feel alright with being splayed out on the ground in front of what appears to be a giant man, but if he moves he will never get the shot, so he stays down and instead twists his body to look at the guy.

“What?”

The guy is breathing heavily as if he’d been jogging, but he’s wearing regular clothes. Isak can’t help but direct his phone’s flashlight in the direction of the guy and his _heart fucking stops_.

The guy is gorgeous, absolutely stunning, with everything working for him from the height to the blond hair flopping down and pushed slightly to the side over his forehead, wearing a light bomber jacket with his hands stuffed into his pockets, figure slouching slightly as if he’s trying to appear cool and relaxed.

Isak knows his mouth is open, but he can’t seem to figure out how to close it.

“You’ll never get a good shot like that.”

Speak, Isak, you need to say something, right the fuck now!

“And you know everything about photography, do you?” Way to go and sound condescending. Great flirting technique, Isak, ten out of ten.

Luckily, the guy doesn’t take offence to Isak’s rudeness and instead slyly grins. “Obviously more than you do.”

Isak smiles but tries to disguise it with a scoff. “Please, I’m the master of taking pictures,” he says and turns back to the flowers.

The guy breathes out a short laugh and gently kicks at the dirt. “Is that why you’re using an iPhone?”

Isak grimaces. “I’m on a budget.”

That earns him a full blown out laugh, and Isak can’t help but feel triumphant even as he flushes under the guy’s attention.

They both fall silent and tall-guy goes back to his scuff mark. Isak doesn’t know what to say to fill the silence, the guy is a stranger after all, and he was the one to approach Isak, but Isak doesn’t really want this to be it – the only time he sees him. So he slowly uncurls his body from the ground, his stiff and cold limbs adding to the already existing aching in his body.

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” Isak says and pockets his phone, “I’m running out of plants here that aren’t just grass or the trunk of a tree. And the pictures I have of the other plants are way too dark or way too blurry.”

Tall guy only studies him for a moment without replying, and Isak starts to wonder if it was a good idea to just let this be and get the hell out of there.

Then he opens his mouth.

“What time is it?”

The question startles Isak. Not the question itself as it is rather common, but because of the context having no relevance to the question.

Isak fishes his phone out again and unlocks it. “21:21.”

Tall guy raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Isak only shrugs. He doesn’t really know what to make of this.

The guy stands still for a few moments longer as if evaluating or planning something. Then everything suddenly moves quickly.

“Come on, I’ll show you somewhere with plant life,” and then he starts walking away, not even looking back to see if Isak is following him.

Isak is frozen in place staring at tall guy’s back slowly moving further and further away from him.

He gives himself a moment to think _what the hell_ , and then he follows.

OOOOO

“ _Somewhere with plant life_ ” turns out to be The University’s Botanical Garden.

The tall guy stops outside of the closed gate before finally looking at Isak for the first time during their walk.

Isak shifts between glancing at the guy and the gate and ends up on the guy. “You do know they close at 9 o’clock?”

Again with the eyebrows and a smirk now as well is the only reply Isak is given before the guy is suddenly heaving his body up and over the gate.

Isak stares openly at the guy and starts to feel quite uncomfortable about all of this. What the hell is this guy doing?

Tall guy remains on top of the fence and awaits any reaction from Isak. When he’s given none he ends up asking, “Well, are you coming?”

Isak should go home, he can already feel himself shaking his head even though he doesn’t remember telling his brain to do it. This is stupid. Not only stupid, this is _illegal_. They’re sneaking into the Botanical Garden of all places and Isak tries to tell his legs to turn around and go home, to hell with the biology assignment.

But…

Before he even knows it, he’s trying to repeat the movements he just saw tall guy do as he climbed on top of the fence. Isak, however, clearly has no practice in breaking in anywhere and tall guy has to grab onto a hand and his sweatshirt to heave him up alongside with him.

Tall guy gives him a beaming smile and Isak offers one shakily back. His thighs are clenching and his hands are shaking and sweaty on the railing.

“This wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tall guy grins and starts to swing one leg over the top. Isak stares at him in horror as he thinks about all the different ways he could lose his balance and fall down to his death, but then becomes paralyzed with fear as he realizes _he has to do that as well now_.

The guy is clearly waiting for him, but Isak can’t unclench his thighs and it’s most definitely not only his arms shaking any longer.

“Um…” Isak mutters, trying to adjust his grip, “help?”

He can’t help but think about how Elias would’ve taken advantage of this moment and probably pushed him forcefully. Tall guy isn’t Elias, though, and Isak lets out a sigh of relief when Tall guy only offers him a shy smile and then grabs onto his hands to hold him stable.

“Now, just, lift your left thigh, yeah, just like that, well done.” Tall guy is full on smiling at him now, and he doesn’t know whether to keep his attention there or on the feel of warm hands holding his clammy ones.

Isak dares take a look down to where he needs to jump. It’s by no means far down, especially not with how tall he is, but he’s not exactly well-versed in the required movements and a injury seems more likely than not. Also there’s the fact that this is technically a break-in, which doesn’t sit well with Isak either.

“Don’t look down,” Tall guy says when he notices where Isak gaze is.

Isak meets the guy’s eyes and knows he’s revealing his inner turmoil of panicked thoughts. “Too late.”

The guy rolls his eyes but manages to look slightly fond rather than condescending.

“Okay, talk to me,” tall guy says, obviously trying to distract Isak instead. “Why are you taking pictures of plants in the middle of the night?”

Isak swallows and forces himself to keep his eyes on tall guy. “Biology assignment,” he manages to stutter out. “We have to take pictures and identify and categorize and stuff like that.”

Tall guy nods even though he appears incredibly uninterested in the science-part of Isak’s assignment.

“Okay,” he nods, shuffles closer to Isak along the railing. “Question, though. Why do it at night?”

“It’s due tomorrow,” Isak breathes and allows himself to be fully distracted. He can feel the guy’s heat radiate off him in waves. “Forgot about it.”

Tall guy nods, looks down, and then up again at Isak with a wicked smile. “Jump.”

He does.

Or, maybe not as much as he lets himself be pulled down along with the guy’s jump. The landing’s shaky, though, and his ankles hurt for a short moment as he loses his balance. He almost falls flat on his face, but tall guy crowds him against the fence and uses his own body to keep Isak’s upright. Isak _knows_ he’s blushing, shit.

He knows tall guy sees it as well because his gaze linger a moment too long on his cheeks before he’s quickly moving back and clearing his throat.

Isak only has a moment to curse at his lack of ability to hide his sexuality before tall guy is giving him a wicked smile and saying, “Let’s go.”

They head to Great-granny’s Garden, the place filled to the brim with various flowers that Isak, once again, will have to get down on the ground, dirty and up-close, to take a picture of.

“So, your pictures are too dark or too blurry. Have you set your ISO settings?”

Isak can’t help but stare helplessly at tall guy. He only knows about iOS and that’s only because the salesman guy said it when he bought his phone. “My… what?”

Tall guy grins cheekily. “Oh, the master of photography doesn’t know how to set his ISO?”

“Master on a budget, remember,” Isak grins back.

“The iPhone has a built in ISO adjustment,” and Isak blushes again from not knowing.

Tall guy doesn’t say anything about it, though, only holds out his hand for Isak’s iPhone, and normally he’d be more careful with who he lets hold very expensive things he most definitely can’t afford to replace, but he hands it over willingly after entering the code and opening the camera.

Tall guy gets down on his knees next to a very small, white flower gathered in a bunch.

“Okay, look here,” he says and touches the screen and starts changing things faster than Isak can see. “The ISO is all about sensitivity to light. You can up the sensitivity when taking a very dark picture. It’ll make your photo grainy, because it’ll make a lot of noise, but you can always edit that out afterwards if you have the right programs.” Tall guy glances at Isak, who’s left gaping at tall guy rather than the screen. Tall guy nods for a few moments. “How about I just take a picture and show you.”

Isak nods slowly.

“How close do these need to be?” Tall guy asks as he positions himself onto the ground, steadying his elbows on the cold dirt.

“Quite close,” Isak mumbles, absentmindedly hoping tall guy doesn’t stain any of his clothes, “um, I really only need one flower and one of its leaves. It just needs to be clear enough to look at, and, things,” he ends stupidly, already cringing from his use of words.

Tall guy doesn’t say anything about it, though; he only takes a picture and then moves to show Isak.

Isak quickly and quietly sends a prayer to any deign who might be listening that he has nothing to embarrass him in his gallery.

“You see?” Tall guy asks, pointing at miniscule spots surrounding a very clear flower. “Noise because of the ISO.”

Isak nods, still not quite understanding, but deciding the leave it alone. Tall guy clearly knows what he’s doing.

“Could you,” he mumbles, not daring to look at tall guy, “could you maybe take a few more, please? Of different plants?”

He shouldn’t have asked for help, why the fuck would tall guy even _want_ to help him. _But_ , a traitorous voice in the back of his head supplies, _he’s helped you so far, even broke in here with you_ , and Isak does _not_ want to think about the fact that he’s currently committing a crime.

But tall guy only grins and shuffles over to the next flower, probably getting his shirt dirty in the process. Isak can’t afford to get it dry cleaned or buy him a new one entirely.

Tall guy doesn’t point it out though, he only snaps a few pictures, shows them to Isak for confirmation they’re good enough, before shuffling along and repeating the process. Isak’s left staring at him bewilderedly.

He can’t understand him, can’t fully comprehend what’s going on right now, and tall guy certainly isn’t helping by being nice and smiling widely at him every time he sees Isak’s looking at him. And every time Isak will blush and turn his head away, but will let himself look at Tall guy out of the corner of his eyes. His heart rate speeds up when he sees the expression Tall guy has; a softer look you probably shouldn’t show a stranger you’ve just met in the middle of the night.

Speaking of, he doesn’t know Tall guy, doesn’t even know his _name_ , let alone why he’s wandering out and about in the middle of the night, even breaking and entering just to help Isak, and Isak doesn’t know why _he’s letting him_. He shouldn’t be here; not only because the Garden is _closed_ , but because this is the _exact_ scenario parents are supposed to warn you about when you’re little – maybe not exact as Isak’s sure not all parents specify the scenario enough to include not trusting a hot, tall stranger who will help them with their homework.

Isak’s so caught up in his mind that he doesn’t notice Tall guy has stopped taking pictures before he’s grabbing his arm, getting his attention.

“Wha-“ Isak beings only to be quickly hushed by Tall guy who hasn’t let up on his grip.

Isak’s about to freak out because this is the _actual_ scenario parents warn their children about, oh god, he’s about to die because of a tall, hot stranger who will now kidnap and murder him, but then he hears it.

Footsteps.

And there, right behind a cluster of large bushes and trees, in between the branches and leaves.

A flashlight.

Tall guy starts pulling on Isak’s arm and it takes all Isak has to move his gaze away from the employee currently investigating the park they’re _not supposed to be in_ to look at Tall guy.

He doesn’t know what he expects, maybe for Tall guy to be as freaked out about this as Isak is since he _definitely_ does not need to have the police be involved in his everyday life, but Tall guy’s eyes are full of life and excitement and he has a wide, devious grin on his face.

“Follow me,” he mouths, and Isak can’t even let himself take a moment to relish in the view of Tall guy’s lips, before he begins to, as silently as possible, army crawl after Tall guy, both trying to keep an eye on the employee and where they’re going to minimize the chance of an accident occurring.

It doesn’t work though, as Tall guy somehow with his long limbs manages to bang into a garbage can, the loud clanging resonating through the air, the echo of it only being louder from the lack of any other noise.

Isak can feel his heart beating in his throat and everything is frozen for a second, but only for a second, because then, all hell breaks loose.

“Hey!” The guy shouts and then they hear footsteps running towards them.

“Run!” Tall guy shouts at Isak, hauling him up by his arm, and they’re off.

They don’t stop through anything, and Tall guy keeps his hold on Isak, making sure they’re not separated. They fly through bushes, flowers, archways, Isak manages to earn himself a couple of scratches when he attempts to run by a bush filled with thorns.

Isak doesn’t know his way around the Garden, doesn’t really spend a lot of time here, if he’s being perfectly honest, but Tall guy seems to know his way around, because before Isak knows it, they’re at the gate again, and Tall guy helps Isak get up and down, thankfully a lot quicker than they were last time.

Isak nearly twists his ankle when he lands on the pavement, but Tall guy somehow manages to pull him up right before any actual damage is done.

“Get back here!” The employee shouts after them, clearly out of breath.

“Go, go, go!” Isak shouts and pushes Tall guy in the direction they’re facing, no idea where they actually are, just knowing they need to _move, now, goddammit_.

They fly through the streets of Oslo, avoiding the few cars they find during the late hour, giggling like fools every time they escape a possible near-death experience that never had them in any danger at all.

“Fuck,” Isak laughs when they finally stop, doubled over and trying to breathe, he’s so out of breath and makes a mental note to work harder in P.E.

Tall guy is leaning against the wall of the building, hands running through his hair as he laughs along with Isak, gasping in between each breath.

Turns out they were headed in an alright direction, Isak realizes, as he’s only about fifteen minutes of a brisk walk away from home.

“That was stupid,” Isak gasps, standing up-right again.

Tall guy huffs out a laugh but nods along to Isak’s statement. “But a lot more fun than what I thought this night was going to be.” He rummages through his jacket’s pockets before finally pulling out Isak’s phone, holding it out to him.

And Isak feels his stomach _drop_ , because for _not even an hour, Jesus_ , he’d managed to forget that this isn’t his life, Tall guy isn’t a part of his daily routine, he’s a guy he met in a park in the middle of a night and who has given him an anecdote no one will believe happened, and he’s a guy he’s never going to see again.

Fuck.

“Well, guy whose name I’ve yet to be told, I’ve never been so happy to meet someone in my entire life.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Isak rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone. He tries to make time pass slower, to extend his time with Tall guy before the goodbye by inspecting his phone for any possible injuries it could’ve sustained during the chase scene.

Neither of them say anything, though, and Isak feels like time has run out and they’re only trying to ignore the blaring alarm.

“That was a hint, by the way,” Tall guy says, and Isak can’t help but look up confused at him.

“Huh?”

Tall guy smiles and rolls his eyes extravagantly and dramatically to show Isak he’s not actually annoyed. “To tell me your name.”

Isak can _feel_ the blood fill out his cheeks, coloring his face red, as he stutters out noises unintelligibly, before finally managing to utter his name. “Isak Valtersen.”

Tall guy stops leaning against the wall and stands at his full height. “Well, Isak Valtersen, pleasure to meet you,” he says and holds out his hand, “Even Bech Næsheim.”

He has a _name_ , Tall guy has an actual string of noises that he identifies himself with and Isak _knows them now_ and he commits them to his memory to never be forgotten as he grabs Even’s hand and shakes it.

“Where do you live?” Even asks him, and Isak points to the left and answers.

And of course, Even lives a few streets away _the opposite direction_ of where Isak’s going.

So this is it. This is the end of his meeting with Even Bech Næsheim, a boy he knows absolutely nothing about even though he wants to, and he will never have the chance to.

But Even doesn’t leave, not even when Isak backs up a few steps backwards as to not be the one to look away and walk away first.

Even only stares at him thoughtfully, though, and Isak both wants and doesn’t want to ask what’s up, but he doesn’t get a chance to before Even’s apparently made up his mind.

“If I’m right,” Even begins, taking a small step in Isak’s direction, “meet me at _Kaffebrenneriet_ on Markveien this Thursday at 4 o’clock.” Another step.

The tips of their feet knock together by the time Even stops walking. Isak can feel the heat radiating off of him as he looks up into his eyes.

“Right about what?” Isak manages to breathe out. His heart is racing.

Even gently takes a hold of Isak’s face, thumb gently sweeping over a cut on his cheek. “This,” Even whispers as he bends down and kisses Isak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/620127486087446528/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been absolutely lovely, thank you so much <3
> 
> This is the _shortest_ chapter, so don't worry, they'll get longer!

**_ Present _ **

Fuck.

Fucking, fuckity fucking fuck, _fuck_.

Isak’s _fucked_.

This was supposed to be _his year_. The year where he turned everything around, the year he got well again, managed to take care of himself again, the year where he wasn’t so _damned sad_ , where he’d finally be happy again.

The year he’d finally get over Even _fucking_ Bech Næsheim and get on with his life; move towards getting his degree in _Biovitenskap_ where he’d finally managed to excel in that _fucking_ physiology class last semester – he fucking _aced_ all of the anatomy questions after having studied for three days straight with only one hour sleep – and things were going to _get better, for fuck’s sake_!

He’s so angry. His fists are clenched and he can’t keep his breathing under control. People on the street keep looking at him as if he’s about to attack anyone who walks too close. A mother moves her pram over onto the other side of the street and Isak wants to shout at her that he’s raging about the unfairness of his life, he’s not a baby-murderer.

Because everything is unfair. So unfair.

He’s worked too hard for this; for his friends, his education, this new life he’s trying to build – a life without Even – but _somehow_ it’s all _ruined_ again.

He _knows_ the guys will ask too many questions, things are too suspicious and he _can’t fucking answer_ any of them, _fuck_. And Magnus is Even’s biggest fan, he’s not getting out of this.

Isak’s panicking, he knows he is. He can’t breathe and he doesn’t know if he’s even headed towards the flat because the earth is spinning all around him and suddenly he’s on the ground, head hurting from the impact.

He’s not bleeding, at least, Isak can’t help but think as he sits up and looks around. There’s a group of young women warily watching him, not sure if they should go over and help or just pretend he doesn’t exist. Isak doesn’t know whether to shout or cry.

He hasn’t been this bad, hasn’t let himself fill his body to the brim with alcohol, for several months by now, and just the thought of how much he’s regressing just from seeing Even less than a second makes his throat tighten and chest hurt. He feels unshed tears burning in his eyes as he slowly gets up.

He needs to get home.

He stumbles forward and tries to ignore the group slowly beginning to go their own way, still keeping an eye out for him. The hard knock on his head was at least beneficial in startling him out of the full-blown panic attack he was about to have.

He’s not far from the apartment, actually, but when he glances at the clock on his phone, he sees it’s been _at least_ four hours since he left _fucking Mikael_ ’s apartment.

The guys will surely be back by now; maybe they’ll have been there for a while because Isak ruined the party by freaking out. Maybe they’re still at the party and Magnus is hanging onto every sound that comes out of Even’s mouth, just like Isak once did.

Well, maybe not _quite_ like Isak did, because he’s _at least_ 79% percent sure Magnus isn’t interested in dicks – the male sex organ, not the personality, although Even sure does fit into both categories – but were Magnus to go gay for a guy, it would definitely be for Even.

He can almost hear Eskild huffing at that phrase, but Isak tries not to think of Eskild too much, even though it makes his stomach churn from guilt. Eskild, the only one who’s actually figured out Isak even though he never confirmed it as much as he fled the Kollektiv.

He’s good at that. Fleeing, that is.

But not as good as Even was.

Isak breathes out and tries to make the world stop spinning as he turns the corner and heads down the street he knows is a straight-way to the apartment.

It feels shorter than usual, though, even though he knows objectively it’s supposed to take nearly ten minutes, it feels like he blinked and then he’s typing in the code for the apartment complex’s front door and then he’s trudging up the stairs to get to his own front door.

He pats his front pockets, and then his back pockets, and then the front again because, _fuck_ , if he’s dropped the keys somewhere he’s completely screwed. Not only does he not have enough money to get a spare made, Jonas will rip him a new one _and_ he’ll be on kitchen duty for a month because of that stupid bet they’d made when they moved in.

He’d been so certain Magnus would be the first to lose, though, and Magnus makes the _best_ pasta dishes in the entire world, so at the time it had seemed like a safe bet. Besides, Isak had never actually managed to lose anything important – sure, he’d forget a hat somewhere, his headphones if he was really scatter minded, but he’s never lost his keys or his wallet anywhere, which is something that can’t be said for the other guys.

“ _Fuck it_ ,” Isak mutters, just about to bang his head against the door frame, body already moving towards the wall, when he feels a lump in the pocket in his jacket.

Alright, so he’s a forgetful idiot. He doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk, because he hadn’t actually stuck around the party long enough to have more than one beer and then the two beers he’d had during their pregame before they’d left.

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, cringing every time he they _clang_ against one another. His head is already starting to hurt, but he’s more bothered by the completely irrational idea that the guys – if they are even home yet – can hear every single noise he manages to make, but if he inserts the key _really slowly_ and then twists it equally as slowly so that he can literally feel the movement of the lock sliding out back, _then_ they won’t know he’s gotten home.

Door unlocked, check, handle down, check, door opened to just a big enough slot that Isak can slither in smoothly?

Isak sneaks in past the doorstep, careful not to step on it because it creaks like hell, he turns around, holding onto the handle with one hand, the other hand pressed against the door on top of it as he _slowly_ closes the door. He doesn’t dare to breathe until he’s heard the small _click_ of the lock.

All the air he’d been holding comes out in a low _whoosh_ as Isak straightens up, smirking at the door because he definitely won this round, thank you very much. Now he just needs to get to bed, and then –

He turns around to see Magnus, Mahdi, and Jonas all staring at him.

Their arms are crossed over their chests and Isak has a weird, unwanted vision of being the villain to their heroic tales where they take him down in their formation.

Isak shakes his head to get rid of the image, but stop as soon as he sees Jonas’ nostrils flare slightly.

“What the _hell_ , man?” Mahdi asks. He looks like he wants to move towards Isak, but he doesn’t, and Isak is pretty sure his legs no longer function.

“ _Hva skjer_?” Jonas asks. He looks so irritated, they _all_ do in fact and, yup, Isak’s legs definitely don’t work anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to cry, so he doesn’t have to worry about his lacrimal system.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jonas tries again. His arms are uncrossed, but he doesn’t look any less pissed, and Isak doesn’t know how to _do this_. “You’re supposed to pick up your phone when we call you. Are you aware of that? That’s how phones work?”

Isak opens his mouth, but he honestly isn’t sure if it’s to talk or to throw up. Maybe he’ll throw up some words – that would be a nice change, because he honestly doesn’t know what to _fucking say_.

“It’s been _four hours_ , man!”

Magnus is surprisingly quiet and Isak can’t help but worry that this is the beginning of eternal silence because Isak is now a traitor. He clearly knew Even and had never introduced him and Magnus, and he loves Magnus, he really does despite all the Even-fangirling and the invasive questions and he’s still pretty sure he might cry any second now.

“What the hell happened at the party?” Jonas now sounds more angry than he looks, and Isak can’t stand to look at him but he can’t seem to look away either.

But now Jonas isn’t talking anymore, and Mahdi hasn’t said anything since his initial outburst and Magnus is still just _looking_ at him, and Isak isn’t even sure if he looks worried or betrayed and his head hurts and he just wants to disappear. Right about now, actually, would be really, _really_ great.

“Hmm?” Is all he manages to get out, and it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s quite possible the _most_ wrong, the _wrongest_ thing he could’ve said, because now even _Magnus_ looks slightly angry and Mahdi is positively _fuming_.

“’ _Hmm_ ’? Are you fucking kidding me? ‘ _Hmm_ ’?” Mahdi repeats angrily, actually breaking superhero-team formation and taking at step towards him.

Isak instinctively takes a step back, his back hitting the door harshly and the force of it jars all the way up his spine.

Mahdi thankfully doesn’t notice, but Isak can’t tell if Jonas does or if it’s just a reflex to grab onto Mahdi’s shoulder to hold him back. Jonas’ facial expression doesn’t change at all, though, so maybe Isak’s lucky for once.

They’re all quiet, heavy breathing almost echoing throughout the flat. Isak can’t meet their eyes, so instead he looks at the shoe rack that none of them actually bother using, which is why he’s standing in a pile of shoes at the moment.

“Do you even have _anything_ to say?” Jonas asks. His voice is harsh and Isak now feels the anger start to bubbling inside of him. Fuck, he’d _promised_ himself that the angry outbursts were a thing of the past.

“You disappear for _hours_ , and like that isn’t enough of a shitty-friend thing to do, Magnus met his goddamn hero tonight, and I know you for some reason don’t like the guy, but you _could_ be a decent friend and support Magnus!”

Isak can’t hold the wince back. He’s not even sure if it’s because he feels bad about not being a better friend to Magnus or if it’s from hearing Even being spoken about as someone’s _hero_. Some fucking hero. Isak learnt that the hard way.

“Not even mentioning that Even – _Even Bech Næsheim_ , world-famous director apparently knows your _name_? How do you know him?”

“Jonas…” Magnus starts, reaching his hand out to hold onto Jonas’ shoulder, but Jonas shrugs him off.

“No! I’m sick and tired of this. Are you going to start this shit again? You said you were going to stop, or was that just another lie?”

It feels like a slap. Or maybe a punch to the gut, because Isak can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he needs, he needs –

He fumbles with the door handle without even turning around, mind barely registering that he needs to unlock the door first, but then his fingers apparently remember and he twists the handle, body thrown backwards with the force of the door opening and then he’s gone.

He can hear the boys shouting after him. He doesn’t even know if they’re trying to follow him – he just slams the door behind him and then starts running down the flight of stairs before he bumps into the front door.

He thinks he hears the apartment door open behind him with a last frightened _“Isak!”_ but then he’s outside and he’s running and he doesn’t stop until he’s turning so many corners he’s managed to get _himself_ lost.

Isak stumbles for a moment, trying to get his bearings back, but all it accomplishes is the nausea rising up until he’s throwing up on the side of the street.

There’s no one there to see it, thank god. He’s even more grateful no one’s there when the first sob escapes him.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

This is not happening. This is _so_ not happening. God, _why_ is this happening to him? This was supposed to be _his_ year, god damn it!

He bites down on the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to keep any and all sounds in. The last thing he needs right now is someone calling the police because of a disturbance, it’s bad enough that he’s publically intoxicated. At least he’s not a minor anymore.

Isak knows he can’t stay here, though. First of all, he’s in the middle of a street in a very nice area in Oslo, he clearly doesn’t belong here. Second, he’s absolutely freezing and he _really_ doesn’t want to go home.

It almost feels like another punch when he realizes that it’s the first time in a couple of years that he feels like that. Alright, he needs to leave unless he wants to give himself _another_ reason to be crying.

He gets up on wobbly legs, almost stumbling into the pile of vomit before he manages to grab onto a street light and balance his weight out properly.

He knows he should call Eskild up, but Isak _knows_ Eskild will want to talk about everything _and_ he’s definitely mad at him at this point for the radio silence.

Isak will survive. That’s all he seems to be good at, anyway. He hopes he’ll one day know how to _live_ again.

He can find a basement somewhere. He was practically a pro at breaking into them back when he was starting high school; he’ll recall the practicalities when he gets there.

**_ Past _ **

He shouldn’t have done this. He really shouldn’t have done this. He is an idiot for doing this, and he can’t stop pinching his underarms even though it _hurts_ like _hell_ , because he’s a goddamn idiot and he _shouldn’t be doing this_.

The coffee shop is loud around him, or behind him, really, seeing as he’s sitting at the elongated table along the window, nervously twisting his cup of black coffee in his hands. Isak watches the people’s reflections, trying his best not to pay attention to any couples or any mothers. There’s a small group of friends sitting near the back. They’re the furthest away from him, but they’re the ones he can hear the clearest.

Isak’s an idiot and he doesn’t even _like_ coffee, especially not _black_ coffee, but it’s all he can afford right now until either of his parents remembers his soon two-week overdue monthly allowance.

He shouldn’t have come. He’s already regretting this and Even hasn’t even shown up yet.

 _If_ he even shows up, a morbid part of Isak’s brain gets through before Isak can force himself to think differently.

Isak’s regretting showing up, because Even is clearly regretting asking him to come, because Even _himself_ hasn’t even bothered to show up, and Isak _kind of_ wants to leave, but then he really doesn’t want to risk it because _what if_ Even actually _does_ show up –

Oh god, what is he even going to say? Isak hasn’t prepared for this, despite not having thought about anything but Even since he _kissed_ –

He can’t start blushing now, not if Even is just about to walk in – which he should be, considering he’s fifteen minutes late – because if he does, he’ll never be able to stop.

Although his face will be turning red for an entirely different reason if Even doesn’t show up soon. Not that there’s any actual public embarrassment in it – no one here knows that Isak’s supposed to be on a… on a _date_ , oh my god, he was asked out on an honest to god _date_ with a _boy_ , with _Even_ , and, yes, he’s blushing, but his pulse is also racing in a bad way because Even still isn’t here, and –

The small bell hanging over the door rings out clearly as the door pushes open, Even gracelessly stumbling in, eyes frantically moving over the people sitting in the café.

Even’s shoulders slump when he’s finished going through all of the people sitting at the tables; most of them at this point already done with the distraction to their everyday lives that Even had caused.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Isak hears Even mutter, his hand raises to push his hair off of his sweaty forehead. Isak watches as Even’s entire body sort of just _slumps_ in on itself.

Even lets out a shuddery exhale that Isak knows he’s only able to hear because he’s sitting _right next to him_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Even repeats, words coming out at an even lower volume this time. “Did he even show?”

“Maybe he’s fifteen minutes late,” Isak says, voice matter-of-factly as he tries to keep a straight enough face that he can take a sip of coffee without spilling all over himself.

He doesn’t even manage to take a sip before he’s sputtering into his cup because Even fucking _jumps_ , one hand grabbing onto the table, the other grabbing onto his chest over his heart and Isak can’t wipe the smirk off of his face.

“Oh, you _asshole_ ,” Even moans, but he’s already sort of laughing as he doubles over, utterly failing in drawing in deep breaths. “Fuck, I have, fucking, palpitations!”

Isak actually lets out a startlingly loud laugh at that. “Oh, dear me.”

“’ _Oh, dear me_ ’,” Even mocks as he clutches onto the vacant high chair next to Isak, already clambering onto it as he pushes against the metal step on the chair. “What are you, eighty?”

Isak snorts and tries to give Even an indignant look, but he can’t keep the grin off of his face.

“Well, let’s hope the guy you’re meeting is a little closer to your age than that, then,” Isak draws the coffee cup up to his face in order to hide his smirk away from Even.

“Asshole,” Even repeats, tone so fond and expression open and honest that Isak kind of forgets to draw in a breath.

Even hooks his foot around the leg of Isak’s chair, pulling back sharply and with enough force to actually move Isak’s chair towards his own. He’s grinning so widely even as Isak has to grab onto the table with both hands, nearly sending the cup flying as he drops it in order to save himself.

Even lets out a laugh as he grabs onto Isak’s left arm, curling his hand around his bicep, not letting go even as Isak manages to right his balance again. God, Isak is well on his way to palpitations.

They just sit there, not saying anything. Isak switches between actually looking at Even, who doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere that isn’t at Isak, and looking out of the window, not seeing anything really. He doesn’t have any attention span left that isn’t already directed at Even.

“So what should I say to my date when I’ve shown up fifteen minutes late?” Even asks, gaze finally moving from Isak’s face to the coffee cup he’s pushing around on the table.

Isak hums, scolding his face into a completely serious grimace as his stomach flutters with giddiness at the word ‘ _date_ ’. “Well, it depends.”

Even breaks character immediately, cheeks already splitting from a too wide grin. “On?” He prompts.

“Did you tell him you were going to be late?” Isak twists his upper body to better face Even, faux-serious expression on his face.

Even shakes his head whilst trying to mimic Isak’s facial expression. “No. You see, I was kind of an idiot and didn’t ask for his number, _nor_ did I give him mine.”

“Ah,” Isak sighs out. “A rookie mistake,” Isak says, nodding slowly like he has a lifetime of experience on the matter.

“Hey,” Even whines indignantly, giving Isak’s arm a soft push before resting one arm on the backrest, the other on top of the table, his hands hanging in the air, wrists crossed over in front of his chest. “For your information, I was quite nervous when I asked him to meet me here!”

Isak doesn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Is that so?”

Even hums affirmatively, grinning back himself as he presses the tip of his shoe against the metal bar functioning as a foot rest on Isak’s chair. Isak can feel the side of his lower leg, all the way up to his knee, pressing against his own leg.

Forget palpitations, he might just combust on the spot.

Even clearly feels the same, because his hands can’t seem to stay still, so he reaches out and grabs onto Isak’s coffee cup, his hand so large it curls all the way around the cup, before drawing it to his lips.

Isak doesn’t even bother moaning about that Even is technically drinking _his_ coffee.

Maybe he should’ve, though, in order to save Even from literally sputtering it back out.

“ _Jesus_!” Isak exclaims, moving back instinctively even though Even didn’t even spit it in his direction, his hand already moving to pound Even on his back. “Are you okay?”

“What the _hell_ is this?” Even coughs out, voice hoarse as he rubs his throat with his free hand.

Isak’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “Coffee?” This _was_ a coffee shop, after all – surely that fact that he was drinking coffee shouldn’t come off as _too_ big of a surprise.

“ _That_ was _not_ coffee!” Even replies crossly as he puts the cup back down on the table. “That was…” Even stops as he searches for words to properly describe the atrocity he just tasted, “utter _despair_!”

Isak _shouldn’t_ be laughing – he doesn’t think, anyway, that he should be, but the first laughter kind of just bubbles out of his chest all the way out of his mouth, and then he can’t really stop himself.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” Isak asks rhetorically once he’s managed to get his breath back.

And promptly regrets it from the look Even gets across his face.

“Wha–“ Isak starts out, but Even has already locked his hand around Isak’s wrist, tugging him off of the chair, only stopping long enough to make sure Isak doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“First, we’re getting some _real_ coffee to drink,” Even starts out, twisting around so he’s walking backwards to the counter.

Isak laughs as he grabs onto Even’s hoodie, holding tight to make Even stop moving so he won’t bump into the woman standing in front of them in the line.

Even’s eyes are twinkling and Isak can’t look away.

“Does ‘real coffee’ mean overpriced, hot, sugary water?” Isak asks petulantly, making Even give him a look of faux-horror.

“ _Real_ coffee, Isak,” Even repeats. His hands curl around Isak’s wrists once again, pulling Isak closer until they’re standing toe to toe again.

It feels so much like the last time they were standing in front of each other that Isak almost pushes onto the tips of his toes so he can kiss Even. He probably would’ve if they hadn’t been standing in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

“And then,” Even continues without missing a beat. One of his hands leave Isak’s wrist to curl around Isak’s waist underneath his jacket instead, “We’re going to see the world.”

Isak thinks his own eyes might be twinkling as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/620694238369316864/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome back! Today's 'present' is not only the shortest of all the present-parts, it is the shortest part in total! (i.e. _spoiler_ nothing is fixed yet)
> 
> Also, cue Eskild!

**_ Present _ **

It’s not like Isak had _forgotten_ how much it sucked to stay in a basement, but being thrust back into that situation was quite a stark reminder of just _how much_ it really sucks.

And this time he doesn’t even have the spare mattress Eskild had dragged down every flight of stairs just so Isak could have somewhere to lie down.

It’s stupid. Isak _knows_ it’s stupid, but he physically can’t make himself call Eskild. It’s like his fingers freeze whenever he takes his phone out of his pocket with the intention to call him. Not like it matters now, anyway, seeing as his phone died in the middle of the night.

He gets out of there a little before dawn. He’d hidden in an unused storage room behind the laundry room, filled with pipes, and he’d rather none of the residents discover him.

His joints ache when he stands up and he _nearly_ lets out a groan until he remembers he needs to be quiet. He thinks he would be able to hear anyone doing their laundry, but he’d rather not risk it.

He feels absolutely disgusting and he’s sure he looks it too. He smells of stale alcohol and vomit, but that isn’t even the worst part.

The worst part is how Isak _remembers_. Getting black-out drunk had its advantages even if he’d have the mother of all hangovers the next morning, it would be blessedly quiet and blank before that. But he doesn’t do that anymore. He’s _better_ , he’s _supposed_ to be better.

But he remembers fighting with the boys, being cornered until he just ran. He remembers Even, _fucking Even_ , and he _really_ doesn’t want to remember Even and his perfect hair and his jean jacket and Isak doesn’t know if he’s going to vomit again or not so he better get out of here.

He presses his body up against the door, listening. He can’t hear the low rumble indicating the washers are going through a cycle so he _should_ be good.

He chances it, twisting the door knob until the door pops open, list a smidge of an opening. He can’t see anything, though, because the washers are on the other side of the room, but it’s a clear view towards the windows.

It’ll be hard to climb out of the basement windows, but Isak can’t take the chance of taking the stairs in the hall, so this’ll have to do.

Isak pushes the door a bit further, just far enough that he can stick his head through at look over the rest of the room. Clear. Perfect.

Isak steps out, carefully closing the door behind him – just in case he ever has to hide in this basement again, he’d rather have his options open – takes the first step and promptly trips of a stray bicycle pump that ends up rattling every single washing machine in the worst domino effect Isak has ever had the misfortune of experiencing.

His life. _Seriously_.

He squeezes his eyes shut upon and doesn’t dare open them until the echo has settled once more.

“Phew.”

His body slumps against the wall. God, it’s too early to be sweating from anxiety, but here he is. At least he got away with it.

“ _Is someone down there?_ ”

The question is muffled through the door, but Isak can hear the footsteps coming closer and _books_ _it_ towards the windows.

 _Up, up, up_ , he unlatches the nearest window, forcing it open so roughly it nearly slams back into place, and then he tries to heave himself up.

It takes _a lot_ of shuffling once he’s up and lying on his stomach. God, he needs to go to the gym more or at least work on his core strength because this is absolutely ridiculous.

His foot bangs against the wall and he can hear the door opening behind him, an outraged resident already getting ready to yell at him.

Isak tumbles out of the window, shoulder scraping against the gravel through his hoodie, but he doesn’t pause, just pushes his foot against the brick wall until he’s _out_.

The woman inside lets out a “ _Hey_!” after him as Isak scrambles onto his feet, falling over from overbalancing once or twice before they start working properly again and he fucking _runs_.

Wow, if his P.E. teacher from Nissen was here to see this…

The thought makes him stumble and he crashes into a bus stop, thankfully not hard enough to actually shatter the glass – that would’ve just been _another_ problem he wouldn’t know how to handle – but it leaves an angry red mark across his forehead along with several concerned stares.

This is not happening. This is _not_ happening. _This is not happening_.

Isak rubs across the smarting mark. This was happening. Whether he liked it or not, this _was_ happening.

He kind of just wants to sit down on the bench and cry.

Instead he continues to stumble down the street.

He’s far enough away from the apartment he’d slept in by now, plus, he didn’t actually _think_ that woman would come running after him, but he doesn’t really have anywhere to go.

He can’t go home.

Isak pulls the hood up over his head and looks down as a couple of people walk past him. His eyes are actually tearing up.

 _He can’t go home_.

This was supposed to be _his_ year.

He had _plans_ , _so many_ plans and sure, he could still execute them, probably, at least half, maybe a quarter of them, but this was the year he was supposed to get his _life_ together; start being a better friend to Jonas and Mahdi and Magnus who’d all thought he was good enough to actually share a flat with, start to actually put an effort into his degree. Yeah, he’d passed all the classes in his first year, but he _knows_ he can do better, _has_ done better in the past.

It’s not easy to _not_ think that he was doing better back when _Even_ –

Fuck, he can’t keep doing this to himself. He can’t keep letting _Even_ do this to him. Even was a thing of his past, he has to start thinking about the present.

His present _sucks_.

He wants a shower. He wants his _bed_. He wants to stick his head through his computer screen as he binge-watches another Netflix Original show – who even cares _which one_ , but he _can’t_ because he ran out on his friends.

His friends who now _know_.

Or, well, not really. Isak knows they don’t know _anything_ , really, but he doesn’t want them to either.

Going home would mean even more questions and Isak _can’t_ , he can’t do it, not yet, not ever, not –

 _Why_ was Even even _here_? He was supposed to be in America wherever the fuck he was living nowadays, not in _Oslo_ walking in the same crowd Isak was trying _so hard_ to assimilate into, to both hide _in_ and hide _from_ at the same time.

 _His_ crowd, _his_ people, _not Even’s_.

God, he can’t breathe. He actually can’t _breathe_ through the lump in his throat and the tears won’t stop falling out of his eyes now. _What_ is he supposed to _do_?

He stumbles. He can’t breathe and now he can’t even _see_ because his vision is too blurred from the tears. People are talking around him and he can’t even make out if they’re talking to _him_ , trying to help, or if they’re just living their life and he’s interrupting it by being here.

His hands fly out, his right one scrapes against the wall of the building he’s walking past, and then he loses his balance when there’s suddenly only air supporting his weight and he slams into a dumpster.

The alleyway is dark, even in the late morning light, and it reeks of piss, but it’s blind and there are only two doors in total and neither of them looks like they’re opened during the day, so Isak lets his body move further in.

The first sob breaks out from his lips without his permission. It sounds horrid and _broken_ and Isak feels his legs give out.

 _Stupid_ , everything is so _stupid_ and _messed up_ and Isak pushes himself around to the side of the dumpster until he can curl up and hide from anyone looking into the alleyway.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Even wasn’t supposed to be here, he was never supposed to see him again. His boys weren’t supposed to find out about Even, and they hadn’t, not really, but now they know _something_ , even if Isak can’t put words to what that ‘ _something_ ’ _is_ , it’s still there and he _doesn’t want it to be_.

And worst of all, it _hurts_. It hurts so badly. It feels like he’s being stabbed in his chest, over and over again and he can’t breathe and he can’t stop crying. He tries to smother the erratic sounds he keeps unwittingly letting out by pressing his hands covered in his sleeves up against his face, but he can’t tell if it actually makes a difference.

Even worse, it’s not even from worrying about the boys, it’s from seeing _Even_ again. After so long, _so long_ of not seeing him, of Isak trying to convince himself he was _over_ it, him, and everything that had happened, it _hurt_.

Fuck.

His head slams against the wall behind him. This isn’t fair. This. Isn’t. _Fair_.

This was supposed to be _his_ year.

**_ Past _ **

“ _So, guess what_ ,” Even’s voice sounds when Isak picks up after the first ring.

“I dunno,” Isak’s face splits into a grin just at the sound of Even’s voice. He feels like an honest to god teenage cliché and he simultaneously hates and loves it.

More so loves it. Even if it means his stretched out cheeks reopens his split lip.

“ _You’re meant to guess_ ,” Even deadpans and Isak rolls his eyes despite knowing Even won’t see it. He’ll probably feel it all the way across town just from how dramatically he did it.

“Aliens are inbound coming for Donald Trump and they’re bringing the rest of us down in the process.”

“ _Close_.”

“Hva faen!” Isak laughs. “No it’s not, you filthy liar.”

“ _Then why did you guess it_?” Even’s laugh rings out clear even as he’s clearly trying to muffle it to keep from waking up his parents.

It’s late, nearly 1 a.m. and Isak pointedly ignores how Even has to keep quiet, but Isak can hear all the yelling from downstairs loud and clear. At least it’s not a school night.

“Well, what if,” Isak moves over to his window, propping himself up against the sill. “You never know. _And_ I like to be prepared.”

“And _that’s_ the scenario you want to be prepared for the most? Not something, like, natural disasters or World War III, or…” Even lets the rest of it hang in the air and Isak tries to fight the grin off of his face.

“ _Ja_ ,” he replies, sass shining through in his voice so much that it overpowers his grin. “But those were a bit too realistic, so –“

“Oh yeah, let’s not be prepared for anything _realistic_. How silly of me, Mr. Aliens-Are-Attacking.”

Isak rolls his eyes. He pushes onto the tips of his toes so he can sit on the window sill. The window feels too cold against his arm, even through the extra layer his sweatshirt provides, but he doesn’t move away.

“You don’t believe in aliens?”

Isak doesn’t even have to see Even to know he’s shrugging.

“Do you?”

“Maybe? Probably. Yeah.” Isak hears Even huff out a small laugh at his lack of conviction. “I just find it hard to believe there isn’t _some_ form of life out there.”

There are too many streetlamps in front of his window for him to properly look up at the sky and see anything but darkness, but if he looks at just the right angle he can see hints of the small white dots forming patterns he hasn’t memorized.

“Do you think,” Even says, “that somewhere out in the _big_ universe, there’s an alien considering the possibility of _your_ existence?”

Isak snorts. “This is perfect material for one of your movies, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Even agrees so with an exaggerated certainty that the laugh bubbles out of Isak’s mouth before he can smother it down with his sleeve. “And one day, this alien finds their way to Earth, and they meet you, and the two of you fall in loooooove.”

“Fuck off,” Isak laughs as he ignores the slight pang in his heart at Even saying the _l_ -word.

He can hear Even snickering through the phone. The noise crackles a bit and Isak thinks Even’s probably pulled his duvet over him to stop any sounds from coming through.

“But then you realize that the two of you won’t be able to live happily together.”

Even’s voice is oddly quiet. Isak can hear his own heart pounding as it picks up in speed.

“Why not?” Isak questions.

“You’re just too different,” Even replies. “You’re from two different planets, you’re not even from the same solar system. But your love for each another is simply too great so you can’t bear the thought of living apart.”

Isak presses his forehead against the pane of glass. The yelling from downstairs picks up, so he forces himself to hone in on Even’s voice instead.

“The only solution to that is death.”

There’s a lump forming in Isak’s throat. “Be honest,” he asks, demands, something that makes the other end of the line go so quiet Isak fears for a second Even has actually hung up on him.

The topic is a little too familiar, falls a little too close to the heart and Isak’s heart starts racing so quickly he can’t make himself ask the actual question that needs to be asked. “You’re going to write it so _I_ am the one who dies, aren’t you?”

Even lets out a loud, surprised, bark of a laugh that he quickly smothers with his duvet. Isak relishes in the small chortles he can hear slip through as Even tries to hear if his parents have woken up.

“Isak, what if that alien is the only living alien in the _entire universe_? I can’t be responsible for the death of the only alien in existence!”

“Why do all of your movies have to be so sad, anyway?” Isak complains. He toys with the drawstring for his hood, twisting it lazily around his finger.

Even’s laughing as he teases, “They’re _epic love stories_ , learn some _culture_!”

“Can’t there be, like, some parallel universe where things don’t go to shit?”

“Isak, _honestly_ , a parallel universe isn’t going to _fix_ what isn’t _broken_.”

“You don’t think we would still be together in a parallel universe?” Isak’s heart thumps loudly in his chest, his cheeks feel warm. “The alien and I, I mean.”

Even hesitates. “Maybe. I – I’d want for you to. But would that be realistic?”

Isak frowns. “How so?”

“Well, would it be better?”

Isak swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

“But why do they have to die for their love to be epic?” Isak pulls too hard at the string and nearly ends up tugging it out entirely.

Even hums noncommittally. “Life isn’t worth living if you can’t live it with them in your life. It’s a love that transcends life and death.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No?”

“No,” Isak confesses, no louder than a whisper. “I think it would be more epic to focus on the eternity of love.”

He doesn’t need to be quiet; there’s no one close enough by that they would hear him, even if they weren’t currently screaming themselves hoarse, but he’s looking up at the stars and listening to the slow breaths Even lets out, and all of it feels just a little too big. He shouldn’t be disturbing the universe by being too loud.

“For every choice we make, there’s a universe out there where we didn’t, where we chose something different. I could choose not to fall in love.” Isak can’t hear Even’s breathing anymore. He almost wants to check in, see if Even’s still there at all, but he doesn’t on the off-chance it’s something else that’s made Even go quiet. “Because falling in love is one of the scariest things you can let yourself do. And that’s when you don’t even factor in how life would be so much easier if you, just, fell in love with the right person – if you didn’t, like, fall in love with an alien from outer space, or a –“

He swallows heavily, doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. The ‘ _or a boy when you are a boy too_ ’ rings out loud and clear without having been said.

“Because once you’re dead, you’re _dead_ ,” he stresses when Even doesn’t reply. “Your love might’ve been worth dying for, but it stops when you’re dead. It can live on in stories, but then the story also ends in death no matter how many times you read it and hope for a different ending.”

Even takes in another deep breath and Isak doesn’t know what any of this means, but he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against the glass even harder.

“But love in its _essence_ – “ Isak promises, his voice soft in contrast to how his hands won’t stop shaking, “doesn’t stop. It moves on, conforms, and reforms itself. It is pliable, but only so long as you work on it.”

He feels absolutely silly. He’s sitting curled up on his windowsill in his room, talking about love and the consequences of romanticizing suicide with his maybe, sort of, _hopefully_ , secret boyfriend while his parents are so full of anger and resentment for each other they spend their time trashing the place.

Isak’s breath quivers when he lets it out, but his voice comes out surprisingly firm. “No one can get the ‘forever’ epic love stories promise. That’s just a fact of life. You _can_ , however, get to experience that love in its purest form.”

“And once it stops?” Even whispers, like he’s too afraid of the answer, but he doesn’t want to not ask the question. “When you suddenly have to live your life without it, knowing what it was like and not being able to fill the hole now permanently caved in your chest?”

“You fill it with something else.”

He can distantly hear a plate clanking against the wall as it shatters, but Isak doesn’t wince in reflex as he usually would. It feels like those sounds are coming from another world, one that Isak doesn’t live in, and that the only thing he needs to pay attention to is this tiny moment forming in the infinity.

“And you remind yourself that the reason you have that hole in your chest is because you dared to live and to love, and you got to experience it more than most people do.” Isak hesitates for a second. “Is that not better? Would you regret being in love?” _Being in love with me_ goes unasked.

Even doesn’t reply, not really, anyway. “ _’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all_.”

“Look at you!” Isak teases, taking the hint, or what he thinks might be the hint to change the topic. “So well-read. Wow. How does it feel to be so sophisticated?”

Even never gets to answer. A particularly loud _bang_ sounds from down the end of the hall, and Isak almost knocks his head into the wall. The shouting doesn’t cease and Isak’s pretty sure that if he hadn’t already, Even can definitely pick up on the disturbing noises now.

“Do you…” Even starts before changing his mind. “Can I do anything for you?”

“No,” Isak mutters. He probably sounds too closed off, but he doesn’t know how to do this. There hasn’t ever been anyone trying to get _him_ to talk, to not just silently accept what’s happening because _not everything is about you, Isak_.

“ _Are you safe_?” Even’s whispering so low that Isak could potentially play it off as not having heard him, like he knows Even intended it to be, but –

“Not particularly,” Isak whispers back.

He doesn’t know why he said it, he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t want Even to worry unnecessarily about him.

Isak clears his throat. “I’ll just keep out of their way. Nothing will happen.”

Even doesn’t reply for a solid minute that feels like ten. Isak can hear his own heart beating, too quickly considering he’s only sitting in his room, on the phone with his _maybe-hopefully-boyfriend_.

“Okay,” Even finally says.

He sounds like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t know what would be appropriate and what Isak would even want to hear right now. It isn’t a particularly long list, Isak’s calm enough to admit that to himself.

“Hey, you,” Isak says. A _bump_ sounds up against the other side of his wall and he presses his body further into the window. It creaks under his weight.

“Mhm?”

“Do me a favor.” He can see more stars now, just a couple. “Next time you see me, tell me a story. A nice one,” Isak hurries to clarify, even as he keeps his voice light and teasing, “one where no one has to die.”

“Okay,” Even promises. “Where should it take place?”

Isak hums quietly as he contemplates the answer. He considers the stars, but now all he can see are tiny alien-men dancing around and the universe feels just a bit too big for him right now.

 _Anywhere that isn’t here_ , he doesn’t say.

“The beach,” he decides instead.

“The beach,” Even repeats. Fabric shuffles on the other end of the line. Isak thinks he might be nodding. “You got it.”

OOOOO

The world around him is swimming, just a little bit, not _too_ much, but definitely more than it’s supposed to, Isak thinks as he tries to walk down the street.

He could’ve sworn he hadn’t had _that much_ to drink, even if the whiskey his dad hid in his office was of better quality than the cheap beers being smuggled into the school parties.

There’s loud music coming from down the street, a multitude of colors spilling out from the open doors where people are spilling out from. Is it that late? Or early? Whatever, Isak has lost complete track of time since he hung up on Even, telling him to get some needed sleep.

Even had told him he should sleep as well and he’d _tried_ , he really had, but he _can’t sleep_ and no one really seems to understand that.

He’d thought the alcohol might be able to help with that, but it hadn’t, hadn’t even numbed his senses enough that he could simply relax. In the end, he just had to get out of there, out of that goddamn house that he _hates_.

Isak bumps into someone of the sidewalk hard enough that his body actually does a full spin as he stumbles forward.

The guy tells him something that might translate to “ _Go home, kid_ ,” but between the slurring, an actual slur and just general swearing, the sentence kind of loses its meaning or Isak simply forgets what the guy had been trying to say as he focuses on _not_ falling flat on his face.

“Hey,” a guy yells, grabbing onto his arm and shoulder just before he cracks his face open on the curb. “You alright?”

Isak snorts. Does he look like he’s alright? He’s most definitely the epitome of ‘alrightness’, that’s for damn certain, thank you very much for asking.

The stranger makes a noise that’s clearly a suppressed laugh, and maybe Isak should feel offended at that, but he’s not certain if he’s speaking out loud or not and he still hasn’t quite worked out how to move his body so that he’s not looking at the ground anymore.

“Hey,” Stranger repeats. “Do you need help? An ambulance? Have you taken anything?”

That’s – that’s way too many questions, definitely way too many questions and has his mouth stopped working?

“No, you’ve been speaking to me this entire time.”

Ah. Alright then.

“Listen,” Stranger says, tugging at the shoulders of Isak’s jacket and, oh, the world isn’t upside down any more, brilliant, “why don’t we go sit over here for a little while.”

Isak stumbles when his feet refuse to cooperate, but Stranger doesn’t say anything about it. Maybe he’s just too busy catching Isak at every other step.

“There we go. God, what are you, fifteen? I need to work out more, I am _way_ too winded just from carrying you around.”

“No, you’re nice,” is what Isak _meant_ to say, but it comes out a little bit like a garbled mess to his own ears.

Thankfully, Stranger speaks ‘drunk’ fluently and gives Isak a massive grin. “What a charmer. Alright, down you go, _there_.”

Isak’s tailbone hits the bench Stranger has made magically appear in the middle of the road – at least it seems that way – hard enough that he feels it even through the booze. This is nice, what a lovely idea. Now, if he could just lean back a bit to relax –

Stranger lets out a startled noise as he lunges to catch him.

Okay, no backrest on this bench. Good to know.

The world spins for a bit again as Isak’s sight sort of goes tunnel vision. There’s a lot of noise, where’s all the noise coming from? The club is clearly closing, but the noise sounds closer by, like someone is talking to him.

Oh right, Stranger. What are words again?

“Can you tell me your name?” Stranger repeats. “Do you have a phone? Anyone I can call?”

“ _Questions_ ,” Isak slurs out. Too many questions, but he doesn’t think he quite manages to get that out.

“Yes, I’m asking questions,” Stranger rolls his eyes. “I need you to give me some _answers_. How old are you?”

“Isak,” Isak replies. Shit, was that two questions ago? He can’t remember.

Stranger blinks once as his brain tries to process and connect the given answer to one of the _several_ questions he’s asked. “Your name is Isak? Or are you looking for an Isak?”

“Isak,” Isak repeats. That’ll really get the point across.

He slumps in the direction of anything that’ll hold up his body, which just happens to be Stranger.

What nice shoulders, very comfy, he could probably fall asleep right here, sitting on a bench in the middle of the night with a virtual stranger who probably has other things to be and places to do. Wait no, other way around, things to do, places to be. Nailed it.

“Hey!” Stranger jostles his shoulder until he’s sort of sitting upright again. “No falling asleep, not until I can get you home, at least.”

Home. _Home_.

A jolt of pure panic runs through his body. He can’t go home, he _can’t_. He can’t stand being there, can’t stand having to listen to the yelling, to the pure insanity his mother’s sprouting and the angry judgmental shouting his father gives back.

He’s so _tired_ and he doesn’t want to go home.

“Shit,” Stranger swears softly. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re going to be alright. There’s no need to cry.”

Stranger cringes at that, like maybe he regrets the last bit, because _what if_ there’s reason for crying – wait, is he crying? Isak hadn’t even noticed.

Sure enough, he can feel something wet rolling down his cheeks. Huh. He… he hadn’t really expected he’d be an emotional drunk.

“You don’t have to go home if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I’m not going to make you,” Stranger tries to sooth as he rubs a hand across his back.

It feels good; his hands are warm and they feel calming, like they’re tethering him to a reality he grows further and further away from with each day passing until he won’t know how to live in it.

“What about a friend? Someone who could come pick you up and stay the night with? Your best friend, maybe?”

 _Best friend_. Is it pathetic that his mind immediately goes to Even? Sweet, gorgeous Even who’s trying so hard to help that he’s willing to make up a story where the lead characters don’t _die_ , but Isak can’t keep dragging him into his shit. He _hates_ it, hates that he has so much _shit_ that he’s basically piling onto Even as well.

He can’t be expecting Even to take care of him, that’s not fair.

Still, going to Even’s sounds _really nice_.

He’s never actually been, but Even has told him about his room. The bunk bed, the small couch underneath, the drawings lining the walls, the guitar, the big windows – so many details that Isak can picture the room perfectly without trying, and right now he’d really like to just climb up the ladder and get under the covers and lie next to Even.

That’s not something you do with your _best friend_ , though, but that’s probably because he and Even _aren’t_ best friends. Or, maybe they are that as well, but best friends don’t go on ‘dates’ and they don’t kiss.

Best friends don’t have to keep each other a secret.

Isak doesn’t even know how to say the words out loud. _Hi, I’m Isak, and I have a boyfriend. His name is Even_. He hasn’t even said the words to _Even_. _Even_ hasn’t said the words to _him_.

He doesn’t know how to get the words out. How to admit it to the world that he’s – that he has – that Even is –

God, even the thought of it makes his heart pound and he clearly makes some sort of distressed noise, or maybe it’s the fact that he practically throws himself away from the Stranger, as much as he’s capable of anyway.

“Okay! We’re not calling anyone, don’t worry about it!”

“No home,” Isak whispers. _No Even_ , he thinks to himself.

“We’re not calling anyone, and you’re not going home. Is that okay?” Stranger sounds like he’s trying to keep his cool, but he is slowly losing it. “What do I do, what do I _do_?”

“ _No home_ ,” he thinks he whispers again as he presses his nose into Stranger’s shoulder. He might get a little bit of snot on the fabric, but Stranger doesn’t say anything about it.

He’s nice. What an awfully kind Stranger. Where would Isak be right now if not for this guy? Probably lying somewhere on the sidewalk until someone sober enough had the wits to call an ambulance. Not that he needs to go to the hospital, he doesn’t want to either, but if he, an under-aged boy, was passed out in front of a nightclub, some sort of authority would probably be called.

Where is he? Isak doesn’t remember most of the walk from his home to… here. Wherever _here_ is anyway.

He opens his eyes, chances it, and sees a whole lot of neon blue.

Huh?

Isak pulls back a little, tries to get his body to cooperate just enough that he’s sitting up by himself.

He could’ve sworn it was nighttime, the sun shouldn’t be up for _hours_ yet, why is he seeing – Stranger’s shirt is neon blue, got it, obviously. Isak thinks he might be more drunk than he’d originally thought.

And there is Stranger’s face; all wide-eyes and worry badly hidden behind a calm façade that’s slowly cracking. Isak looks around them. There aren’t a whole lot of people left, which means he can see the posters and signs telling him which club he’s at – not that he knows every single club there is in Oslo, but this one seems fairly big so it wouldn’t be _unreasonable_ if he’s heard about it.

Isak feels like he might throw up upon sight. It’s a _gay club_. He’s sitting outside of a gay club, and all he can think about is how life is probably having a real good time laughing about the irony that is his _life_.

“Hey? You with me? At least a little bit?”

A face pops up in front of his own as Stranger moves into his line of vision. Isak blinks a couple of times before he registers any of it.

Stranger sighs. “We should get you sobered up a little bit, huh? Come on, up you get, on your feet.”

Isak fumbles his way up, leaning far too heavily onto Stranger as he’s being pulled up onto his feet. He stumbles a couple times, like a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time.

Isak giggles as he sees that image in front of him. Why would there even be a fawn in the middle of Oslo, let alone at a _gay club_.

A sob threatens to spill out of his mouth, but Isak doesn’t let it, too afraid something else would be spilling out as well, and he’s more afraid it would be secrets rather than vomit.

Where are they going again? Stranger keeps pulling him along somewhere, away from the club – good, Isak thinks bitterly. He doesn’t want to look at it, can’t, doesn’t know how to. He doesn’t know how to do any of this.

He’s so caught up with being happy they’re moving _away_ from the club, he doesn’t even think about where they’re going _to_ until there’s a weird _swoosh_ sound and florescent light blinds him and makes pain sear through his head like a fire spreading.

Stranger shushes him again. “It’s alright, we’ll be quick – we just need to get a water or, something – yes.”

Another _swoosh_ sound that ends with a _clank_. Then there’s more moving, and is that chips Isak can see? He could really go for some chips right now, that sounds amazing. Or some beer, that would be cool too.

They pause. Oh, they’re in line, what are they buying again?

“Here,” Stranger forces something into his hands, and then takes it back when Isak’s hands can’t quite manage to fold around the object properly.

Something presses against his mouth. Isak parts his lips long enough for some type of liquid that is decidedly _not_ beer to slip into his mouth that he promptly spits out again, coughing at Stranger lets out an indignant yelp.

“What?” Strangers yelps when Isak stars crying again. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t want water!” Isak cries out, wipes his nose with his sleeve as he glares up at Stranger. This is utmost betrayal is what it is; Stranger should be banished from this country.

“Jesus Christ.” The bottle of water is pressed to his mouth again, another hand holding on to his shoulder as Isak slowly swallows a bit of the liquid.

He does _not_ want water, but in the back of his mind he reasons that Stranger has absolutely no obligations to him, has absolutely no reason for helping him and yet here he is. He can drink _a little_ bit of water.

The bottle disappears and Isak blinks slowly before his brain catches up.

“That’s a bit better, isn’t it?”

Stranger’s voice is too chipper and Isak winkles his nose in disdain at the tone as he lets himself be gently pulled along to wherever Stranger is leading them.

“You’re so grumpy,” the guy puffs his elbow against Isak’s arm. “Anyone ever told you that?”

Even called him adorable that one time – not that Isak’s going to mention that at all, actually. Isak looks down on the ground so he won’t accidentally stumble over his own feet and fall flat on his face. That reminds him, they’re going somewhere.

“Where’re w’oing?” His head feels like its stuffed full of cotton, but even _he_ can hear that’s not how words are supposed to work. “Where _going_?”

“Where are we going?” Stranger is quick to grab onto Isak’s elbow as he threatens to tumble down on the sidewalk, giving him an absolutely unhelpful ‘ _Upsy-daisies, watch your step_ ’.

“Don’t wanna go home,” Isak repeats. He tries to sound affirmative, maybe even intimidating, but his voice wobbles and he can feel blood surging up into his cheeks, coloring them red.

“We’re not going home,“ Stranger tries to appease. “Um, I’m taking you back to mine. One of my roommates is out and the other one you barely see half the time anyways. Like, she’s perfectly nice, I love her to bits – not that I don’t love my other roommate as well, she’s great too. They’re practically my best friends, but I feel like you _might_ not be up for a lot of company right now, so…”

He trails off and looks to his left, away from Isak.

Stranger… Stranger has friends and a life and things he probably had to do, and yet he’s making room for Isak; Isak, who has absolutely nothing to offer back.

“You’re, like, nice,” is what comes out of Isak’s mouth. You’re _nice_?!

Stranger barks out a surprised laugh as he looks over at him. “I’m nice?”

“Mmm,” Isak agrees. It wasn’t _exactly_ – at all – what he’d meant to say, but Stranger seems pleased none the less. “Very.”

The streets are quiet around them, Isak doesn’t recognize the area in his inebriated state, but they’re still in central Oslo. It’s nice, being able to just walk beside another human being, and a nice one at that. Isak has overused the word ‘nice’ but it seems to be all he’s capable of thinking.

“Takk.” Stranger is surprisingly quiet, like those few words had a bigger impact on him than he’s willing to admit.

Isak stops in the middle of a step too quickly so he ends up stumbling again, letting Stranger take a bit of his weight as he leans against him.

Isak has heard that tone of voice before, hears it every time he tries to compliment Even; that self-deprecating tone that reveals more than the person wants it to and Isak is _through_ with having to listen to it.

And then he promptly empties the contents of his stomach all over Stranger’s shoes and blacks out.

When he wakes up again, his head is _pounding_ so badly he doesn’t even notice he’s not lying passed out on the street somewhere, but he’s lying in a bed that smells of laundry detergent and there’s possibly the softest pillow underneath his head.

This is, decidedly, not _his own_ bed, so where the hell is he?

The room is blessedly dark when he opens one eye. It’s just a completely normal room; he hasn’t been lured into a weird sex dungeon. He isn’t wearing his jeans, he can feel the duvet sliding against his legs as he moves around, but his underwear is still on and so is his t-shirt.

What should he do? He can’t remember getting here. He can recall glimpses of some guy helping him out, is this his place? Isak has absolutely no idea. He can’t hear anyone moving around outside the door either. Should he just leave? He probably should, as soon as his head stop the drum solo and he can find his pants.

“Godmorgen!” the door bangs open, making Isak jump out of his skin before he sees the guy who he vaguely recognizes walk in and open the curtains.

Isak groans as he hides his face into the pillow underneath his head. God, that stings. “ _Is_ _it_?”

It’s amazing the guy even comprehends the muffled noise he’d let out, but he just laughs as he puts something down on the bedside table.

“Isn’t it always a good morning when you wake up and there’s a grumpy teenager in your bed?” the guy grimaces. “Alright, that sounded _way_ creepier than I intended it to be. Ignore that, forget it completely, actually.”

Isak chances looking up at the guy who stands there awkwardly, shifts his weight back and forth with his hands in his pockets. If Isak is being completely honest, he looks like he feels a little bit out of his depth.

“So!” the guy tries sending Isak a friendly smile as he nods towards the table. “How are you feeling?”

God, this guy is loud, but his pillow is great and Isak doesn’t bother moving his face to reply, “Like shit.”

“I’d imagine,” he plops down beside Isak, making the bed bounce nauseatingly enough that Isak feels worried for a second before his stomach settles down again. “I don’t know exactly how much you remember from last night, but there was a lot of you talking absolute nonsense, acting like a toddler, and my personal favorite, vomming all over me.”

 _Fuck_ , Isak grimaces as he twists his body to face the guy.

He’s lounged over the other side of the bed, propped up slightly against the wall with the other pillow supporting his lower back. He doesn’t look angry, but then again, Isak wouldn’t be entirely ecstatic about having to take care of a drunken stranger.

“Sorry,” he mutters. He looks at the corner of the guy’s mouth, he can’t look him in the eye, can’t bring himself to actually do it.

The corner of his mouth is pulled down in a slight frown as the stranger simply looks at him. Isak doesn’t know what he’s seeing, what he’s looking for, but he doubts he’s a sight to behold right now – morning after and stale breath if he isn’t mistaken.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” the guy smiles as he wiggles his eyebrows. “Gave me an excuse to get a new pair of shoes.”

Isak can’t keep the surprised snort in. “Alright, then.”

Christ, he’s bad at this. He doesn’t know what to _say_. He can’t get his emotions under control enough to actually figure out what he is and isn’t feeling, but he doesn’t want to let his stunted emotional intelligence stop him from letting this stranger know how much he appreciates what he did. Honestly, Isak doesn’t even want to think about what could’ve happened to him had he run into the wrong people or simply spent the night out on the street.

“Thank you,” blurts out of his mouth before he’s decided on what to say. Isak grimaces when the guy jumps at the sudden sound. “And sorry, for… yeah. All of it. But also thank you. I don’t –“ _I don’t usually do this_ , _I don’t know what would’ve happened had you not taken care of me_ , _I don’t know how to thank you for letting me borrow your space while I can’t stand to be in my own_ , there are too many options and Isak doesn’t even know which one he’s referring to.

Stranger doesn’t say anything. He scratches lightly on his forearm as he continues to look at Isak with a pinched, thoughtful look on his face.

“How old are you?”

Isak winces again. _Too young_ shining through too clearly. “Nearly 16.” So not even 16. Stranger can’t hide what impact that particular fact has on him

It’s too quiet. It’s _oppressively_ quiet and Isak does not do well with awkward silences. He’ll either start blabbing or he’ll simply leave, but he doesn’t want to do that or the latter; not only does he not have anywhere to go, but he also doesn’t want to just _leave_ either.

“Not gonna lecture me about underage drinking?”

The guy huffs amusedly. “I think you got that warning last night all by yourself. Also, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite – I was already drinking back when I was fifteen.”

It sounds worse when you actually say the number out loud. Jesus, he is so young but he feels incredibly old. Maybe some kind of weariness has settled in his bones and Stranger probably felt it last night and recognized it for what it is.

“You also kept blabbing on about someone called Isak,” the guy pulls on a lighter tone.

Someone called Isak? Isak doesn’t know anyone else called – “I’m Isak,” he clarifies.

“Oh!” The guy pulls on such a comically surprised face that Isak can’t help but roll his eyes and bite his lip to keep from smiling. “You were introducing yourself! I figured that might’ve been the case, but I didn’t want to presume.”

 _Presume_. How old is this guy?

“I’m Eskild, by the way,” Stranger, Eskild, tells him. He doesn’t move to give Isak his hand, but then again, Isak doesn’t remember the last time he showered so that might be for the best.

“Eskild,” Isak tries it out on his tongue. It suits him. “I’m glad to have met you.”

Eskild grins and laughs once, before the smile freezes on his face, creating a slowly cracking façade.

“This –“ Eskild pauses, scratches a bit harder at his arm. “This might not be any of my business, but…”

Oh god, what had Isak said? He could’ve said _anything_ , _literally_ , he does not remember most of his encounter with Eskild, only tiny bits in the beginning. Did he talk about Even? Did he talk about _himself_ , what he – what he – there are so many things he could’ve admitted to he doesn’t even know where to _start_.

“You kept saying you…” Eskild pauses again before he turns back to look Isak in the eye. Isak’s frozen and his body refuses to look away. “You kept saying you didn’t want to go home.”

A shiver runs through his body, chilling him to the bones despite how warm he should be from how fast his heart is beating.

He can’t, he can’t breathe properly. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say – does he take it back? Do as he usually does and play it off as not being as bad as it is, or does he admit to not feeling safe when he’s the place he’s supposed to feel the safest?

“One of my roommates,” Eskild says when Isak has been silently suffering for a sufficiently long enough time, “I mentioned her last night, but uh, you probably don’t remember – which is fine! But I have two roommates, and one of them, she – she’s your age as well.”

Isak doesn’t outwardly react to that, his joints still too locked up to move around – not that Eskild would’ve noticed, seeing as he’s resolutely staring straight ahead at the window.

“Her parents send her a bit of money for rent and food and stuff like that. Things weren’t great at home for her, so it works out for everyone.” Eskild lets out a small laugh that sounds more sad than anything.

Now that Isak’s looking, Eskild doesn’t seem all that old himself, probably only a couple of years older than Isak and Eskild’s mystery-roommate, so less than twenty years old. Maybe he knows a little too much about not wanting to go home himself.

“She’s, uh,” Eskild continues, tilting his head in Isak’s direction even as he doesn’t turn to look at him. “She’s been talking about moving to Spain before starting in high school, like a gap year or something. Maybe, I don’t really know all the details – I don’t think she does either, to be honest.”

The less Isak focuses on not being able to move his body, the more he can start to curl his fingers and toes, can blink and swallow and _breathe_.

“I don’t know what exactly it is you’re going through or what’s – yeah – what’s happening at home, but, um.” Eskild shifts so he can sit on his hand to stop from scratching his arm. His skin is already red and irritated from the past minute. “When she moves out, maybe we could find a… financial solution with your parents.”

Oh god. Oh my god. Isak can’t believe this. He can’t _believe this_. This, _this_ … this is well on its way to being everything.

“And until then, just in case, because I _really_ don’t want you to be wandering around on the streets out there all by yourself,” Eskild finally meets Isak’s gaze. “There’s always a place for you to crash here. Or just talk, if you want to.”

Isak can’t breathe for an entirely different reason. He prefers it feeling this way instead.

“And I know it’s not always like you want to be… _social_ in a time like this, so… I have a spare mattress and a duvet I could set up down in the basement. It’s not much,” Eskild hurries to say. “But it’s warm and dry, and we could use it as a ‘ _just in case_ ’.”

The lump in his throat grows denser as he feels tears spring into his eyes. Eskild pulls his hand out from underneath himself to lightly pinch Isak’s wrist in comfort.

“You are welcome here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/621339028801847296/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who _actually_ sticks to an upload schedule?? - i.e., I did an entire rant over on my tumblr, and now I'm doing a trial of bi-weekly uploading, so Tuesdays and Fridays :)

**_ Present _ **

Isak doesn’t go home.

He finds a public bathroom to clean himself up a little bit, using the water from the sink, and it’s just as disgusting as it sounds and he’s not entirely certain he feels any better afterwards, but the taste of vomit is out of his mouth and he doesn’t stink _too much_ of sweat and alcohol, so that’s a plus.

Then he wanders around for a bit. He tries to avoid any obvious streets, nothing too close to the university or their apartment, not near the place they go grocery shopping or Jonas’ favorite Kebab shop, but everything else is fair game and Isak treats it as such.

He’s got his wallet on him – thank god, but he only has 100 kroner and he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to bear the thought of going home, so he has to be careful how he spends it.

At least he doesn’t have a hangover, which he tries to console himself with as he stretches out on one of the benches. There are children playing on a small playground the city has built, their screeches loud enough that he hears it all the way from where he’s sitting.

He tries to let himself, just, _be_ , but the list of things he’s trying to avoid thinking about seems to be growing endlessly and his heart _hurts_ and he ends up looking like an idiot trying to catch his breath whilst sitting on a bench.

He keeps going over it, mind running in circles that won’t actually end up solving anything. He can keep wondering why the hell Even is suddenly here, what will the boys say – they’ve already got so many questions and his disappearing-act will only increase the amount.

Isak has to go home eventually, he knows that. His laptop’s there, all his schoolwork, his stuff, but he _can’t_ , he can’t do it.

God, he feels like he’s sixteen all over again, sneaking into Eskild’s basement because he _can’t_ be at home anymore. The reminder leaves him feeling short of breath all over again and he ends up having to lean over and put his head in-between his legs unless he wants to pass out.

He can’t answer the questions. Hell, he’s never said it out loud to _himself_ , he _can’t_ do it to the boys. They don’t even know that he – that he doesn’t, with girls, or anyone else, really. Not when he’s still such a mess, he can’t bear the thought of being close to someone else.

He never told anyone. He never said a word, and once he’d spent enough time around Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus and finally had had someone to tell, he didn’t know how to. By that time, they’d already gone to so many parties together and there had only been talk about hooking up with girls and Isak just didn’t know how to tell them, “ _Actually, I don’t do that,_ ” so he’d just never said anything.

Lord knows what they’re thinking has happened. _Isak_ can barely grasp the concept and he _lived it_ , it was his _life_ , _Even_ was –

 _Stop it_. He’s not doing this to himself again. He’s _fine_ , or at least he’s working on being fine. He has coursework and he’s slowly but surely getting his degree in biovitenskap and he’s doing it all on his own and he’ll continue doing it by himself. He’s bound to get good at being alone at some point, with enough practice.

Isak shudders and tries to draw his hoodie closer to his body. It’s stupid, he has no reason to be cold, it’s September for crying out loud, but here he is anyway.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. Long enough that parents are shooting him weird looks as they take their kids to the playground, and they do so again when he’s still there when they leave.

There are so many people around Isak, and he spends a stupid amount of time worrying about what all of them are thinking when it _doesn’t matter_. He’s allowed to sit here, he’s allowed to keep secrets, he’s allowed to be heart-broken, he’s –

This was supposed to be _his_ year, he’d _promised_ himself that he wasn’t going to spiral again. He wasn’t going to drink excessively and miss half his classes and all of his study group sessions.

And the thing is, he _had_ been doing fine. The semester has only been going for a couple of weeks, but he hasn’t once needed to email his professors about an extension. He’s turned in every single assignment, has done all the reading. He’s even mentally set off time to schedule a meeting next week where he’s supposed to work with his new study group. He hadn’t been drinking excessively and he’d only had one minor freak-out this past week, which is a vast improvement.

He’s alright, or at least he’ll be alright.

Sooner or later Even will go back to America and Isak will only have to deal with the mess he always leaves behind this one final time. He just needs to figure out how to deal with Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus – that is, Isak realizes with dread filling his stomach so much he fears he’ll throw up again, if they even want anything to do with him anymore.

He’s bailed on them _twice_ now – Jonas had been so angry, so, _so_ angry and Isak _still_ doesn’t actually know what to say, what he can even say to them, especially not anything that would be helpful either.

God, things weren’t supposed to be this difficult. Isak was supposed to work towards getting a degree, he was supposed to redeem himself in his own eyes and be a better friend, a better person, and all it took was one night to smash it all to pieces.

He can’t do this. He _can’t_ _do this_ – he doesn’t know how. He never learned the first time, Jonas somehow just ended up dragging him enough out of it that he could finally breathe again after drowning for so long.

He was supposed to be better, yet all he seems to do is fuck everything up.

Isak bites down on his clenched fist to keep a sob inside. There are already enough people looking at him weirdly, he does not need to be the guy crying on a bench as well.

He tries to focus on his friends, but his mind keeps drifting back to Even. Isak shouldn’t even be surprised at this point, it always was like that; Even on his mind 24/7 ever since he met him.

Even looked good, healthy – a bit surprised, but Isak could imagine he was happy. Being a director had been all Even had been able to talk about when thinking about the future, and Isak isn’t bitter Even got to live the dream, but he sure does wish he hadn’t been left in the dust, trampled over and broken and trying to remember how to live without Even by his side.

He shouldn’t take comfort in the fact that somewhere, in an entirely different universe, there would be an Even who had stayed, or an Isak who hadn’t been left behind. He prefers the last one, because in that one Even still gets to make his movies, but that thought is usually reserved for the particularly bad nights, the ones where Isak has definitely had too much to drink and has only gotten the courage to look up movie reviews and check the latest gossip sites when he’s lying in bed and has pulled the duvet all the way over his head.

They’re not thoughts for midday Oslo. They’re not thoughts Isak should be thinking _period_ , because they’re not good for him. They’re _not_. All they amount to is a morning of regrets, of newfound knowledge that Isak will spend the rest of his life wishing he could forget.

Ignorance is bliss, and even though Isak likes science, likes exploring and understanding, he understands that phrase a little too well and he wishes he didn’t, he really, really does.

And now he can wish Jonas and Mahdi and Magnus also weren’t aware of things. If _Even_ just _hadn’t shown up_ at that stupid fucking party, or if Isak had stayed at home like he’d initially been planning, before he’d gotten his grade back with a little check-mark telling him he’d passed and Jonas had practically manhandled him out of the apartment to go celebrate with them. If, if, if. They’re practically spilling out of him at this point and Isak gasps in heavy breaths as he presses his fingernails into the palm of his hand, trying to feel something.

He needs to focus on his surroundings, he can’t get stuck in his head – not here where there’s no one to help him, where his phone is dead and he can’t contact anyone and no one can contact him.

He needs to not be alone, but there’s nothing he can do. He can’t face anyone, can’t answer the questions and he _can’t say anything_ – he can barely breathe, let alone _talk_ and Isak has to bite his bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

A couple of parents have started pointing towards him, so Isak slowly gets up on his feet and moves on.

He follows the tracks of the pram. He doesn’t have any money, but he doesn’t have a destination either, so he might as well walk, try and make time pass quicker than it does.

It doesn’t work and by early afternoon, he’s _starving_ and feels an even worse headache coming up from consuming too little fluid.

Isak’s better than this, or he wants to be. He wants to be able to take care of himself, he wants to be able to have his friends and his degree and a _life_ , and he just doesn’t understand why it’s so hard, why it seems like no matter what he does, he just _can’t_.

His stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself so Isak ends up at McDonald’s, ordering the cheapest thing on the menu that’ll somewhat fill him up and the biggest cup of water they’ll give him.

He looks pathetic, he knows that, sitting all alone in a booth, surrounded by a mess of vibrant, happy colors while he more than anything resembles a wrung out dishcloth as he picks at his food. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, so he isn’t in a hurry, and despite feeling absolutely hungry out of his mind, eating isn’t a particularly pleasant experience.

His plate ends up empty, though, finally, and with a full stomach and dissipating headache, Isak ends up falling asleep right there, in the middle of children screaming and parents complaining, his head presses against the window as he nods off.

The sky is turning purple when he’s ushered out of there by a grouchy employee who probably thinks he’s on drugs. Isak tries to apologize, but the guy just looks more annoyed the longer Isak drags this out, so he does what he’s asked and gets out of there, doesn’t look where he’s going until he’s nearly in another area of the city.

He should go home. He should. The sky is slowly darkening and then he’ll have been out on the streets for nearly 24 hours and he shouldn’t be doing this.

Instead, Isak’s feet take him the opposite direction of home. If he’s lucky, he’ll find another basement, otherwise it’s nice enough out that he won’t freeze, especially not if he can find an alley or something to block the wind.

He can do this. And tomorrow, he’ll go home. He _has_ to, he can’t keep doing this. He had promised himself he wouldn’t keep doing this and he’s going to stop, he really is.

For now, though, he’ll just let himself have this moment of self-loathing and self-pity. He even lets himself have a little bit of cry as he hunkers down in a muggy basement that smells like it’s full of mold. It makes his throat hurt and irritates his nose, but it’ll only be for one night.

It’s still long enough that his head feels entirely clogged up, like he’s coming down with the worst case of the flu, when he wakes up stupidly early. Or at least he figures it’s stupidly early because the sun hasn’t even started to rise, leaving the world feeling dark and desolate as only the very early commuters are up. Still way too many people for it being Sunday, but Isak is wandering around as well so he shouldn’t be hypocritical.

His heart starts to pound whenever he gets one street closer to their apartment and he feels so _stupid_. No matter what, no matter how angry the guys are and how many questions they want answered, it’s his home too – or it’s supposed to be. Oh god, what if they kick him out? Isak wouldn’t even be surprised if that were to happen.

Where would he go, where would he live? Eskild would let him stay on the couch for a lot longer than he probably should, even with the way he’d been blowing him off the entire first year of uni and only a halfhearted attempt of rekindling during the summer holiday, but all the rooms are filled up and he can’t keep living his life like a sidepiece.

Linn probably wouldn’t mind him being around, but Noora had moved back in when Isak had moved out in his last year of high school and he never really got to know her. By that he means he never actually met her outside facetime-calls where Eskild would suddenly shove him into frame to say hello to someone who was practically a stranger.

He can’t do this, shouldn’t be doing this. He can’t be creating problems before they’re an actuality. He needs to go home and confront the boys – or be confronted, Isak doubts he’ll ever actually go to someone to confront them about an issue, but it’s a nice thought that he could ever be that confident.

He should go home. He’s going to go home. His feet are certainly taking him in the right direction, Isak realizes with such a fright he manages to startle himself into taking a right one street too early.

That’s okay, though. He can take a left a bit further down and he’ll just have walked a bit of a detour, that’s fine. If he manages to take the left, but then walks past the next left he needed to take so he ends up walking all the way around the apartment complex that’s fine too. And if he takes the alternative route once or twice more before he finally decreases the distance to the apartment enough that he just feels silly at this point, then that’s also fine.

But Isak really does feel silly. Honestly, it shouldn’t be this big of a problem, it _shouldn’t_ , but somehow it _is_ and that makes him feel even worse about the entire thing.

Still, he acts braver than he feels and takes the final right and there, there is his home, right across the street. He just needs to cross the street and he’s home.

He doesn’t move.

Instead his brain conjures up all these reasons why he shouldn’t go home just yet. He’d spent most of the night sobbing – fuck, his eyes will be red-rimmed and it’ll be obvious he’s been crying. Shit.

He can’t do this. He actually can’t do this.

Isak’s standing _right there_ on the street opposite of their building. He’s _looking_ straight at their front door, he has the keys _in his hand_ , ready to go, and he _can’t do this_.

He can’t look the boys in the eye. He can’t just saunter in there like he hasn’t technically been missing for probably close to 40 hours by now. He can’t do any of this.

Still, he _needs_ to go home, and going for another trip around the block is only going to delay that fact, it won’t make it go away. He _has_ to do this, but his chest feels too tight and his feet won’t cooperate and he doesn’t know what to _do_.

Actually, he might know what to do.

Because he can walk around the building, jump over the banged up gate leading to the green area with all the personal gardens for the people living on the ground floor. Mrs. Petersen, the woman who lives underneath them and continuously complains about the youth’s behavior, has a big apple tree growing in her garden, the last wisps of the tree ending right in front of Isak’s window. Plus, their windows are the ones that slide open and Isak’s never actually used the lock for it.

This… this might work out – especially if he can actually manage to _climb_ the damn tree. Isak hasn’t done this since he was maybe twelve, so that’s about eight years, close to a _decade_ , since he last climbed a tree.

“Just like riding a bicycle, _ik’ sant_?” Isak tells himself as he rubs his hands together. Jesus, all of this serves to wind him up more rather than work as the pep talk he’d intended it to be. “Muscle memory. You just gotta –“

He manages to crawl over the fence into Mrs. Petersen’s garden, and then he just reaches out with both hands and hefts himself up onto the first branch. He pulls himself up far enough that he can just about manage to swing his leg up and over, and then he’s sitting.

So far, so good. Honestly, he could be quite content right here if it weren’t for the fact he can feel rough bark digging into places bark shouldn’t ever dig into, so he draws his legs up until he can shuffle himself onto his feet. From there, it’s just a question about moving up to the next branch and _not looking down at any moment_ , no thank you.

Isak has seen enough action movies; he knows what happens every time the main character looks down. Granted, he isn’t crossing a broken-down bridge, but he’s certain he could get a rather sizeable bruise from falling down from this height.

He’s surprisingly quick at getting to the top of the tree as well as surprisingly sweaty once he can grasp onto his windowsill with the tips of his fingers.

The window slides up without any problem and Isak ignores how he’ll have to look at the now greasy finger stains on the outside of his window – that is, if he actually gets to set foot in this place ever again after this.

 _Stop it_ , Isak hisses at himself as he swings one leg over the windowsill. He shouldn’t paint an alarmist picture before he needs to. He’s certain he can spend at least a day in here before the boys even notice he’s home –

The sole on his left shoe squeaks against the window, somehow accidentally snagging itself on it so when Isak goes to step down, half of his body is left behind and down he goes with a bang, landing painfully on his right knee, braising himself with his hands luckily before he also manages to bash his head into his bed frame.

Isak remains there as he gets his bearings. What is the likelihood of no one having noticed or heard any of that? They sure as fuck never hear him when he’s yelling about bills or going grocery shopping, but they usually have a sixth sense for when their presence is _not_ needed. Surely, though, he could be lucky just this once –

His bedroom door slams open just as Isak has managed to work himself up onto his knees. Both he and Jonas stare at each other completely frozen with a wide-eyed look on their faces. Oh god. _Oh my god_.

“Did you just _climb_ up here?” Jonas’ hand clenches on the doorknob as he looks at Isak with disbelief.

Isak’s heart is pounding, his tongue feels like it has swollen up and is too big for his mouth. God, he doesn’t know how to do this, especially not when Jonas is standing right there in front of him, hair frazzled and his body practically vibrating from pent-up anxiety.

“The apple tree.” Isak licks his lips and mentally kicks himself. This isn’t what _matters_.

“Jesus,” Jonas breathes out so softly Isak barely hears it, and then he continues more forcefully. “Where have you _been_?”

Isak winces. He doesn’t know half of the places he’s been wandering through. Besides, he doesn’t think the actual location matters much, so he just shrugs and mutters something unintelligible that makes Jonas quirk both eyebrows in disbelief.

“Did you stay at someone’s? We were out most hours yesterday looking for you.”

Wait, what?

They were… looking for him? Isak can’t wrap his head around that thought. Why would they – were they so desperate for answers that they couldn’t _wait_ for him to come back? He shouldn’t have come back, all of this was a mistake. He doesn’t know how to do this.

“Did you…” Jonas hesitates, his hand sliding on the doorknob from how tightly he’s holding it. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Of course they would find a way to get the answers they want, Isak is a _fool_ for thinking differently, he –

“We, uh –“ Jonas looks past Isak as his shoulders drop into a hunch. “We stepped over the line that night. We, we were just – yeah. It was too much.”

They overstepped – what is he even _talking_ about?

“ _We_ were too much. We were unfair to you and, just, we’re really sorry, okay?”

‘ _Sorry_ ’? ‘ _Okay?_ ’! Isak can’t breathe. He doesn’t understand any of what’s going on, he really doesn’t.

“We were so worried. We didn’t know where you were, where you would go. You didn’t answer your phone, and then we figured you’d probably run out of battery sooner or later, but we couldn’t just let it go _unchecked_ , you know?”

Isak doesn’t know _what_ kind of secrets his face is revealing – he knows all the once he’s trying to keep hidden – but Jonas sees them, he somehow always does and Isak doesn’t know _how_. Even if he did, he isn’t sure if he wants it stop anyway.

“Are you all mad at me?” his voice comes out a lot more quiet than intended, a lot more timid. Isak had wanted to sound more sure of himself, but he _can’t_.

Jonas’ face falls. He looks almost desperate, and Isak doesn’t _understand_. “No one’s mad at you, alright?”

Isak doesn’t reply. Mostly because he doesn’t actually believe it, and Jonas must be able to see that on his face.

Or he can see something at least, because that something makes something in Jonas change. Suddenly, he doesn’t stay there frozen at the door, but he storms towards Isak, taking quick strides around the bed until he can grab on to Isak, who briefly worries about bringing his hands up because, _is he about to get punched?_ , but all Jonas does is draw him into a hug.

Isak doesn’t remember the last time he got a hug – a _real_ hug, not just a side-hug or a pat on the shoulder, but an actual _hug_.

Or, he does remember, he just doesn’t want to.

“Don’t _do_ this again,” the tip of Jonas’ nose is warm where it’s pressed against Isak’s ear. “We worry, man. We just – we – this is your home too and I’m sorry if you felt like we were running you out of here, we were just –“

“Worried, yeah, I get it,” Isak murmurs. He doesn’t get it, but admitting that would mean Jonas would stop hugging him. He wants to press his head into the crook of Jonas’ neck, just to hide away from the world for a little bit, but he doesn’t do that. He presses his chin into Jonas’ shoulder a little harder to avoid the temptation instead.

“I still don’t know what to think about – about _what happened_ ,” Jonas breathes out. Isak more so feels the breath of each word rather than hears it. He knows Jonas can feel how he instantly tenses up.

It’s stupid, in the back of his head he knows it is, but all he can think is that he can’t run when Jonas is holding onto him, and suddenly that’s all that seems to matter.

“But frankly, it isn’t any of our businesses what, what the story behind _that_ is. And if it’s bad enough that you’ll just – _leave_ , take off like that, then…” Jonas trails off and Isak doesn’t dare breathe until he finishes whatever thought he has.

“I’m here, _we’re_ here, if you ever want to talk.”

Oh god no, please no, no talking, Isak can’t, he _can’t_ –

“And until that happens, _that night_ according to any of us never happened.”

Isak forces his eyes shut so the tears gathering in the corner won’t fall like they’re already threatening to. He still doesn’t quite understand _any_ of it, but…

Jonas isn’t only giving him an _out_ , he’s giving him his chance, the one he’d worked so hard on for _so many months_ , the chance that told him he was good enough for someone to want him to stick around, he was good enough that Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus wanted to move in with him, to share a flat and a space and a life with him, and one small tears escapes, slowly rolling down his cheeks before the fabric of Isak’s hoodie absorbs it.

“Just, _please_ don’t take off like that again,” Jonas tightens his grip, once, in a tight squeeze and then steps back. He doesn’t say anything to the fact that Isak’s eyes are wet.

“Okay,” Isak whispers. And that’s all it takes.

Jonas gives him a small smile and claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s get some breakfast, alright?”

Both Mahdi and Magnus are in the kitchen, only Magnus actually looking awake and aware, and for a second the urge to _run_ flares up in Isak again, just get out of there before they notice he’s there, because it’s too good to be true, it _can’t_ be all that it takes, but then Magnus turns around, looking taken aback, then his face lights up and with a rushed out exclaim of “ _Isak!_ ” he grabs onto him and squeezes tightly enough that it leaves Isak out of breath and dizzy.

Mahdi gives him a fist bump and tries his best to hide away a weary, worried look that Isak has a feeling he should probably be getting used to seeing on their faces.

Any second now, they’ll start, all the questions, all the accusations, all of the _everything_ , Isak can feel it, and he knows it, _any second_ now –

“Gutter, let’s have a _feast_ for breakfast! Brunch or whatever –“

“ _Brunch_?” Mahdi jeers. “You want _us_ to cook _brunch_?”

“Yeah!” Magnus laughs. “Proper one, with like, sausages and bacon and –“

“Sorted,” Jonas yells, overpowering both of them as he slabs a box of cereal onto the counter. “Everybody, grab a bowl and pray to God we have enough milk.”

Mahdi ends up snorting some of the milk out of his nose when Magnus regales them a story about his week while Jonas is playfully ribbing into him, and all Isak can think is that it’s nice getting to feel like he can’t breathe simply because he’s laughing too hard rather than any other reason.

Sometimes, Isak grins as he looks up at the boys, this is all it takes.

**_ Past _ **

The thing is, Isak and Even live on opposite sides of Oslo and their schools aren’t exactly close by each other’s. They shouldn’t be crossing paths at any point during the week unless they’ve explicitly arranged to meet somewhere.

With that being said, Isak’s standing frozen like an absolute idiot in the middle of the road, because right there, right _there_ is Even.

And he is not alone.

There are five other guys with him, all dark haired and with hesitant touches and careful smiles, like they don’t quite know what to do, but they all want to be there, it isn’t a pity thing.

Isak doesn’t get it, doesn’t get why Even looks so uncomfortable around them if they are as friendly as they seem. He doesn’t meet their eyes, doesn’t reach back out to reciprocate their careful touches – he’s so different from the Even Isak usually sees that Isak almost feels like he’s looking at an entirely different person.

Who are they? Are they classmates? Old friends? New friends? Close friends? Isak isn’t getting a lot of contextual clues. Plus, he isn’t actually going to get close enough to Even that he’ll be able to hear what they’re all talking about.

Close to Even. Shit, he shouldn’t even be _this_ close; sure, he’s across the street and down the road, it was more luck than anything that he even saw Even to begin with, and there’s absolutely no reason why any of them would look in his direction, nor would anyone but Even be able to recognize him.

They… wouldn’t be able to recognize him, right?

Isak _knows_ he hasn’t told anyone about – about Even and _whatever_ it is he’s doing with Even, even if he came close to it with Eskild, no one around Isak knows about Even.

But Even… Isak isn’t around Even 24/7, he would’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell someone.

Is that why he looks so uncomfortable? He told those guys and now they’re ribbing into him? No, Even doesn’t seem the type, especially not to a group of guys Isak doesn’t even know if he’s friends with, but anyone else? His parents? Any close friends he _does_ have?

Isak has literally no idea. It’s the first time the thought even comes across his mind and it’s bad enough that it feels like the ground has been swept away underneath his feet, his stomach doing uncomfortable rolls that make him feel nauseas all of the sudden.

Because Even could’ve told _anyone_ and it wouldn’t only be affecting him, it would affect _Isak_ as well.

A couple walks past him, probably only a year older or so, giggling and whispering to each other. They’re probably around Even’s age; do they know? Is that why they’re giggling? They walked past the, the – shit, Isak can’t even think it and suddenly half of Oslo might be shouting about it?

Alright, now he’s overreacting, half of Oslo wouldn’t even care about some random dude doing ‘ _stuff_ ’ with another dude, but Isak can’t think clearly through the blood rushing in his ears.

He should leave, he should just go, get home, lock himself away until that horrifying moment where his parents will be pounding on his door, demanding to know what all the talk is about. In fact, he’s going to leave, right now, Isak goes to twist around on his foot when he sees Even look up, narrowing in on his exact location with terrifying accuracy.

And Even looks surprised to see Isak – not that he should, this is Isak’s part of the town, after all, like they’ve divvied it up, for god’s sake – but he also looks _worried_ , even as he tries to cover it up and play it off as nothing as the boys clearly start to ask what’s wrong, looking in Isak’s direction as well.

Shit, Isak turns around so quickly to walk down the hill he nearly tumbles down it altogether. He grabs onto the nearest lamppost, ignoring the sticky feeling to it as he hurries away.

Shit, shit, shit.

He’s breathing far too heavily for how short as distance he just ran, it’s been a while since he last did any actual exercise instead of just wasting time away on FIFA.

Why would Even look _worried_? Did he think Isak was going to confront him about telling everyone? Isak doesn’t even know how to _do_ confrontation, doesn’t Even know him well enough to know _that_ –

Even _does_ know him well enough to know that.

Jesus, Isak’s a shitty person. He shouldn’t just suspect Even right off the bat, there are plenty of reasons why he wouldn’t want to hang out with those guys. Maybe they make stupid, insensitive jokes, Isak sure as hell knows all about _that_. Even can have just as many reasons for wanting to hide who he is, wanting to hide Isak from the people in his everyday life, just as Isak has.

It’s not that Isak’s _ashamed_ of Even, that’s not what it’s about, it’s more so… Isak would shout it to the world that Even is his – that he likes Even, show him off to everyone, but showing off Even would mean showing off _himself_ as well, and –

Isak doesn’t want that.

His phone pings in his pocket and Isak leans up against the brickwall of the nearest building, his breath coming out in short pants as he fishes his phone out of his jeans.

 _That was you, right???_ The text from Even says.

Isak could ignore it. Or he could write back a bunch of question marks himself, implying he has absolutely no idea what Even is talking about – he could ignore everything that just happened so if Even really _had_ told people, had told those guys about Isak, then Isak still wouldn’t know he was the butt of whatever joke they had going on, he wouldn’t have to lose Even when he’d barely gotten to have him.

 _Yeah_ , he writes back. _You alright? You looked uncomfortable._

It takes a while for Even to reply, and when he does it’s just the number ‘ _2_ ’.

‘2’. ‘ _2_ ’? What the _hell_ does ‘ _2_ ’ mean?

Isak glares at his phone, like _that’s_ going to get him any answers, but then he hears a pair of feet pounding on the pavement, despite how many people are whizzing past him.

Even’s frantically looking left and right before he spots Isak on the other side of the street. He jaywalks over there before Isak can walk over to the crosswalk to meet him. A car honks angrily at him, but Even doesn’t even look back to wave an apology.

‘2’. ‘2 seconds’, except Even didn’t waste two seconds actually _typing that out_.

He’s winded, which makes Isak feel a little bit better about his own lack of fitness as well, and they both just stand there in front of each other, waiting for the other to say something. Isak should give Even the chance to explain himself – not that there’s actually anything he has to explain, it could all just be a scenario Isak has built up in his head.

“Are you,” Even hesitates, brushing the tip of his shoe against Isak’s. “Are you keen on coming back to my place?”

Isak raises an eyebrow. What does that mean – Isak has never been to Even’s, just like Even has never been to Isak’s, so why suddenly invite him there today of all days? _Is_ there something Isak should be worried about, and if so, is it even a good idea for him to go anywhere with Even?

Isak shakes his head, trying to expel those thoughts – he’s being stupid, there is absolutely no reason why he should be thinking so badly of Even. He’s just paranoid and it’s the easiest to blame the person he’s closest to, who just so happens to be Even.

Even doesn’t know that though, and Isak has to watch Even be crestfallen for a second before he realizes Even thinks he’s telling him no.

“Yes!” Isak blurts out, too loudly. A man walking past them turns back to look at them before he goes back to his own life. “Yes, I’d love to.”

“Oh!” Even bites his bottom lip before he plasters on a nervous smile. “Great.” And then they’re off, heading into an area of Oslo Isak usually doesn’t traverse in, has no reason to go there at all, actually. He tries to keep it out of his head whether or not that’ll ever change. He should keep the _what if_ ’s to a minimum for his own mental health.

Even’s home is bright and colorful and absolutely the opposite of what Isak’s home feels like. Maybe they hide it away as well, though, because Even’s nose crinkles once they’re inside, kicking their shoes off before Even leads Isak into a room that’s so _Even_ that even if Even hadn’t already described it, Isak would’ve placed Even here.

From the drawings tacked all over the closet to the guitars and the _mess_ , it’s Even through and through.

What _really_ gives it away though, are the huge windows with a sill just big enough that you could comfortably sit there, even with two people. They’re up on a high enough floor that the only thing outside the room are the tops of the trees, the slim branches knock against the glass periodically when the wind hits them.

Even steps into his line of sight in front of him, back hunched a bit, not enough that Isak could comfortably kiss him, were he to do that, that is, but enough that Isak can see Even for what he really is; absolutely exhausted. There are dark bags underneath his eyes and a slight frown to his lips. Even as he tries to tuck it away and smile at Isak it’s still there, almost like it’s been there for so long it’s now a part of Even.

“Halla,” Even mutters, shuffling a little bit closer. It makes it seem like he’s actually confident about this, but Isak can tell he isn’t, can tell he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. That puts Isak a little bit at ease, makes him feel like they’re standing on common ground.

“Hei,” Isak whispers back, tilting his head back just a smidge more without thinking, simply doing it from the mere proximity of Even, just in case Even feels like leaning down to meet him.

Even radiates warmth, even as they’re not physically touching each other Isak can feel it getting warmer the longer they just stand there, switching between actually looking at each other and looking away. God, it feels like they’re being immature children, but Isak doesn’t know what to say.

Does he even have any right to inquire as to who those guys were? Is that the kind of relationship he and Even have – can he just _ask_ about personal things? He knows he can, has done it before, as has Even which is why they know things about each other they’ve never dared telling anyone else about. Some secrets they haven’t actually told each other either, but they’ve been quite evident from the first kiss they’d had in the street in the middle of the night.

Still, Isak doesn’t know of the boundaries, if they do so exist, and even then he has no idea what he actually saw or didn’t see. He has no idea where to begin.

Even clearly doesn’t either so he leaves Isak, letting him stand in the middle of his room like an absolute tool as he goes to fish around for something next to the couch underneath his bed.

Isak watches the curve of his back, the way the t-shirt stretches tightly enough that he can make out each and every knob of his spine. He shouldn’t have thought badly about Even before, already he can feel his body start to calm down from the near panic he’d managed to work himself up to.

He might not know Even’s friends or his parents or be a part of his life – the non-secret part of his life, anyway – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _know Even_. He knows about his dreams and aspirations, he knows what he likes to drink in the morning despite never having shared a morning with him that wasn’t through the phone, and he knows that Even likes to use ‘secret ingredients’ in just about everything he cooks, even though Google will tell Isak it’s not that uncommon of an ingredient to use.

He knows Even. And Even knows him.

“Hey,” Even holds up an already rolled blunt. “You game?”

The window sill _is_ big enough that the two of them can comfortably sit there. Isak stuffs his foot underneath Even’s leg and Even only complains about him being absolutely freezing for a minute before he takes the first drag and passes it over to Isak.

Isak’s only smoked twice before. Both times he’d been wasted enough that it didn’t look odd that he didn’t know how to do it properly. He holds onto the paper carefully, making sure to keep away from the burning end as he tries to copy what Even had just done.

And then he proceeds to cough his lungs out.

“What are you doing?” Even laughs.

There are tears gathering in Isak’s eyes, possibly from a mixture of the smoke and the gasping for air, but to be honest, choking is worth it if it makes Even stop looking like he’s about to pass out in the next second.

Even’s already reaching over to help him out.

“Breathe in,” he orders. “Hold the smoke in your mouth for a few seconds and then breathe out.”

Isak coughs one more time before he lets Even guide the joint back up to his mouth, pressing it gently between his lips. Even’s pupils widen as he watches the way Isak’s lips fall pliant underneath his touch, and Isak feels high enough already, even without the drugs.

He does as instructed, but it doesn’t help anything. He can’t hold the smoke in and his lungs are threatening to burst already. This is a lot harder than it looks.

“Jeez,” Even draws back until he can rest up against his side of the wall again, taking a _successful_ drag himself. “You never cease to impress.”

“Hey,” Isak whines, throat sore already. He wiggles the toes on the foot underneath Even’s thigh, nudging him hard enough Even’s leg bounces from the movement. “It just got stuck in my throat!”

“Mhm,” Even placates, nodding his head seriously even as he’s pulling a weird grimace to stop himself from laughing again. “Don’t worry about it, I can show you something else instead.”

“In a minute,” Isak coughs into his elbow one last time. He folds his fingers around his knee and leans his head back.

The window is cool on his right side despite how warm it still is outside. Even takes another drag and looks out the window, giving Isak the perfect opportunity to just sit back and admire the specks of sunlight shining in, coloring his skin and hair in a more golden hue.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

Isak takes long enough to reply that he can see Even’s fingers starting to twitch in nervous anticipation.

“Do you want me to?” he ends up asking. _Am I allowed to?_

Even shrugs, like it doesn’t matter the slightest to him, but Isak can tell it’s a lie, he somehow always can despite how much of an enigma Even can feel like.

“Are they your friends?”

Even though Isak isn’t smoking, simply sitting this close to Even, and probably from the failed attempts he’d had himself, Isak can feel his body slowly losing up. It’s either imaginary or Even has banked some _really_ good stuff, because he doesn’t know if he should be feeling the effects _so_ quickly. Unless he should take into account that he’s definitely a novice.

Even grimaces a bit at that question. “Yeah. Or, I mean, _yes_ , but – it’s complicated.”

Isak nods, once, like that actually means something to him. He doesn’t have a back-story, not one to Even’s life and he doesn’t even have the _names_ of his maybe-potentially-group of friends.

“There’s been some stuff going on,” Even’s staring resolutely out the window like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, “started back before I even met you. They were just asking if I’m _okay_.”

He says that word like it’s a bad thing. But then again, Isak doesn’t know what happened, maybe it isn’t fitting to ask that.

Even turns his head back to glance over at Isak again, a careful smile already plastered onto his face, “Anything new with you?” Even though the smile is clearly fake Isak takes the hint to change the subject, even as he’s shifting with the need to _know_ – just in case.

“I met a guy,” he says instead.

“Wow, replacing me already?”

“ _Nei_.” Isak tuts, nudging Even a bit more forcefully this time for such a stupid comment. His stomach flutters with butterflies at the implication that Even could fill what clearly sounds like a romantic role in his life. “He, uh, lives in a kollektiv, and one of his roommates is thinking about moving out soon.”

“Okay?”

“He –“ it feels _good_ to get this off of his chest. He’d already suggested to his dad ages ago that he should move out sooner rather than later, but it had been a while since his dad was willing to listen to him. “He offered for me to move in when she leaves, and, uh, I – I think I’m gonna do it.”

Even’s eyes are soft as he looks at Isak in a way that makes his stomach flutter with something other than a feeling of dread that seems to constantly be swirling around in him. “I think that’s a really good idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Even turns back to look out the window, but Isak keeps on staring at him.

He isn’t going to lie, it’s still bothering him _slightly_. He gets that Even might’ve gone through some things he doesn’t want to share with Isak, Isak isn’t going to _make_ him talk, nor would he feel comfortable knowing about it if Even doesn’t want him to.

But his brain works in patterns, in analyses, it doesn’t come naturally to him to just let a question lie. He might squirm away from it when it’s about something this personal, but Isak can’t stand the idea that someone out there, even someone he’s never personally _met_ , knows _this_ about him, about him and Even.

It’s going to bother him for a long, long time, he can feel it, if he doesn’t ask, so despite Even’s clear dismissal of the subject from earlier, the words tumble out of Isak’s mouth.

“Have you told them?“ _About us, about how I feel about you, about how I think you feel about me_ “About me?”

As soon as he’s finished talking there’s a certain rigid tenseness to Even’s shoulders that Isak hasn’t seen before. It makes him look bigger, broader – he probably should feel more intimidating, but Isak isn’t scared. He’s scared around a lot of people, nearly constantly terrified if he’s honest, but never around Even.

“I haven’t told them, no,” Even taps on the blunt and a few burnt pieces fall off out of the open window.

It sends a pang through Isak’s heart and he doesn’t even know _why_. He should feel relieved – he _does_ , he most certainly does – but it’s like a double-edged sword. The relief of not having been outed added to the worry as to why Even _isn’t_ telling his friends.

“They wouldn’t believe me if I told them I liked you.”

“Oh.”

What does _that_ even mean? Even isn’t out, neither of them are, but surely it wouldn’t be _too_ much of a stretch were he to tell his friends he also likes boys?

“Not, it’s not – it’s not because you’re a boy, it’s – _shit_ ,” Even shakes his head and takes too heavy a drag, his voice hoarse from it when he starts to speak again. “It’s that they wouldn’t see you as, as my _boyfriend_ , they’d see you as an obsession. They think my behavior towards _certain things_ is more like a fixation and me being fanatic. They discard my feelings as an _overreaction_ and I’m so sick and tired of being told what I’m supposed to be feeling and how much I’m _allowed_ to feel. I hate it.”

Isak’s heart is pounding from both admissions, but he forces the word _boyfriend_ into the back of his mind for a later examination, when he’s trying to fall asleep later tonight, because this –

Even isn’t quiet about what he’s feeling, and if he is it’s because he’s talking through his body instead, or through his ideas. But this is a lot more of Even in a depth Isak hasn’t had the privilege of seeing before now.

“Only you can feel what you’re feeling.” It comes out a lot softer than Isak’s usual tone of voice, soft enough that it draws Even’s attention to him. His eyes don’t leave him.

“All I know is…” Even starts, “I don’t ever want to lose this feeling. This, what I feel about you.”

“Me neither.”

They don’t move for a while after that. Burning embers drip off of the joint out the window. The drugs are slowly but surely being wasted, but Even doesn’t comment on it or move to do something about it.

Maybe it should feel awkward, doing love confessions during the middle of the day the first time Isak has ever been in Even’s room, but it feels so _natural_ , and for the first time in so long, Isak doesn’t feel the constant need to run, to hide, to _flee_. He’s perfectly content to sit here, crowded into Even’s space.

He sits there and listens as Even tells him a little bit about the boys; their names, how he’s closest to Mikael, but he seems a bit distant about it so Isak wonders if they might’ve pulled a bit away from each other during whatever it was that happened. Isak in turn tells him more thoroughly of his meeting with Eskild, at least the parts he remembers and believes from Eskild’s reenactment the day after.

There are more important subjects they should be talking about, and they kind of do. They talk around in circles and agree without actually saying any of the words to show it.

“I don’t have anyone I could tell – or that I want to tell, about me.” _About us_ , Isak tells him.

“I don’t either.”

Neither of them wants to come out, so they won’t.

And it’s not like they’re _ashamed_ of each other, they both have their individual reasons that they don’t share right now. It just isn’t anybody’s business who they like, and they shouldn’t have to share that with the people around them if they are only going to be judged for it.

So they’re going to keep quiet.

To be honest, it makes Isak feel a lot more settled, like he’d been more worried about this than he’d originally realized, but now that they’re on the same page – on the same _boyfriend_ page – it feels a little easier to breathe.

“Hey,” Even reaches over until he can softly slide his fingers across Isak’s knee, the tips catching on Isak’s own hand. “Come here.”

Isak doesn’t know where he gets the confidence from, but instead of just leaning closer to Even, he shifts onto his knee and shuffles forwards until he’s straddling the upper thigh of Even’s leg, the one resting on the floor for support.

The space is much too narrow for it, and Isak has to rest his left foot on the floor as well, but this way he can feel every breath Even takes, can see his eyes that are too dark for how much light is floating into the room.

He’s taller than Even this way by maybe an inch, so Even looks up at him as he takes a drag, the fingers on his free hand curl around Isak’s hip, squeezing around his side before Even straightens his spine. He leans up until his mouth can press against Isak’s own.

Even breathes the smoke out slowly. Isak catches the grey wisps within his mouth that he closes when Even presses his thumb against his bottom lip. His lips don’t part before Even pushes just the tip of his thumb inside his mouth, Isak’s tongue peeking out to press back against him.

Even’s eyes are definitely darker when Isak slowly lets the smoke out without any troubles this time. It feels like a rush of adrenaline spiking through him, and later Isak will think that’s why he’s able to lean in and kiss Even without Even having to make the first move for once.

It’s a lot different than any of the previous kisses they’ve had. From the careful first kiss when Even had been so, _so_ much braver than Isak could ever see himself being, to the four tentative kisses Even had given him when they’d left the coffee shop, to all the other kisses they’ve shared between then and now. It’s not easy getting to have a proper make-out session when they’re both in the closet and never in a private setting – never before now, that is.

At first it’s as soft as all their previous kisses, but then Even swipes his tongue out, just pressing it along the curve of Isak’s lip, and then it’s anything but soft.

Isak can’t move any closer. His knee is already pressing up against the wall behind Even and there isn’t really any room in general. It doesn’t matter once Even has discarded the joint – did he just _throw it_? – and lifts his own hips up a bit while his now free hand curls around Isak’s thigh, giving Isak more purchase to move around as he pleases.

It’s so good. Warm heat curling in his abdomen and groin that intensifies when Even lets out a low groan at a particularly satisfying roll of their hips.

Even reaches up to grab onto one of Isak’s curls, pulling just hard enough that Isak loses his breath as he lets his head be guided back far enough that his throat is stretched out and Even can press forward with his mouth first.

He’ll have marks later, he can feel it from the tiny bites, just too hard sucks Even gives him for it not to bruise. It doesn’t matter to Isak, though, at least not in the moment as he curls his own fingers around Even’s arms, shoulder, anywhere he can hold onto as his breath comes out in shorter pants.

Later, he’ll probably give Even shit for it, teasing him about an apparent possessive need he didn’t know he had. But now he leans back down and breathes in the air Even exhales until they’re both too sensitive to keep moving, Isak slowing down from the deep grinds so just softly rolling his hips.

“ _Is that marijuana?_ ” a disgruntled voice screeches all the way from down the street.

Isak and Even tumble down from the sill too quickly. Their limbs end up tangled together and they land hard on the carpet.

“Shh!” Even presses a finger against his own lips when Isak starts to giggling and can’t seem to stop, but he can barely let the air flow through his lips himself from how much he’s trying not to laugh.

“Jesus,” Isak laughs and then tries to muffle his noises by rolling into Even, pressing his face into the nook of Even’s neck. He can feel each vibration of Even’s laugh on his cheek like this.

“We probably shouldn’t do that by the window again,” Isak giggles once he’s gotten his breathing sort of under control.

Even barks out a laugh too loudly that Isak has to come out of his hiding place to press his hand against Even mouth and shush him, even though he can’t do it properly from how wide his cheeks split from a grin.

“Uh, we should _definitely_ do it by the window _again_ , is what I think you’re trying to say,” Even tells him when Isak lets go.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he repeats and lets his weight tumble down onto Even’s body in retaliation.

Even’s breath leaves his body in a _whoosh_ , but all he does is work his arm around Isak’s shoulders and pull him in.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I still owe you a nice story.”

“Set on a beach,” Isak insists.

“Set on a beach,” Even promises, pressing a kiss onto Isak’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/621694483784990720/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue our queen, our goddess, Sana herself. Let's get some timid, bickering friendship going.
> 
> And thank you to all of you who has been commenting! Both to this story, but also to my rant, it was really nice to hear your thoughts on the matter <3 I'm pretty sure I'm going to stick to a biweekly uploading schedule, soooooo ~¨~more content ~¨~
> 
> Also, this is the last chapter below 10k! (oh boy)

**_ Present _ **

Despite having attended classes with these same thirtyish people for two semesters, Isak never actually went through the effort of learning their names. He’d thought that was going to be a reason for anxiety when their tutor read out who was supposed to be working together, but turns out he was wrong about that.

Because the guy who looks too much like he just rolled out of bed and doesn’t give a flying fuck has paired him up with Sana. He is paired up with _Sana_. He is going to be doing experiments, group projects and study sessions with Sana.

Who, Isak is sure, is a _lovely_ – or at the very least a _good_ – person. She just so happens to scare the shit out of all of their classmates.

Isak will deny it till the day he dies, but the stereotype about boys who are getting a science major not being able to talk to girls like they’re actual human beings applies to about half of the guys in this room – not something Isak can relate to, but he has his own reasons for that. The rest of the people in here either find her completely unapproachable, don’t want to be on the receiving end of a backstabbing, gut punching comment Sana has become known for after a guy wouldn’t take no for an answer at some party, or they throw out xenophobic and religious discriminatory comments like nobody’s business.

Isak spent about _97%_ of his first year not caring about anything that didn’t end up with him being drunk out of his mind, so he’s never actually spoken to her. The only reason he knows her is because Eva, Jonas’ sort-of-half-the-time-more-so-a-fuck-buddy girlfriend, is friends with her, and by proxy Isak has heard about her.

She doesn’t seem as scary when he’s heard an account of how fiercely she’ll protect her friends and of the lengths she’ll go to to cheer one of them up. Then again, she is currently sending him death glares that makes Isak dig his toes into the ground.

“You probably already know each other,” the tutor says, makes himself comfortable behind the screen of his laptop, “but go on and sit with your partners, introduce yourselves, make nice, all that jazz.”

Isak sighs as he gathers his coat, laptop and backpack. Dammit, he’d gotten the best seat in the room as well, the first seat of the row right by the door so he could be in and out within seconds. But Sana isn’t moving by the looks of it, so Isak is just going to have to bite the bullet.

“Hey,” he greets, trying to plaster on a smile even as Sana glowers at him. “I’m –“

“I know who you are,” she interrupts.

Isak has to bite his cheek to keep from giving a retort back of his own. It won’t amount to anything good, and despite how shit this year’s kick off has been, he’s determined that _this is his year_ , and Ev- _someone’s_ sudden appearance and Sana’s bad mood will _not_ be deterring him from completing his goal.

“Alright, then,” Isak slumps onto his seat.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to make new friends. He has Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi and that’s more than fine, it’s pretty much more friends than he’s _ever_ had before.

He looks up to see Sana glaring at him.

“What?” he snaps.

“ _You_ might be willing to slack off and practically waste away your life, but I’m here to get an _education_ ,” she bristles at him. Her eyes look darker with the heavy ring of eyeliner around them. “This is important to me and I will _not_ be the only one doing all the work only for you to get credit as well, you got that?”

Isak’s mouth snaps shut after it had fallen open from the indignation of being spoken to like that.

It’s, he’s reluctant to admit _fair enough_ that she believes this of him. His first year hadn’t exactly been productive, even if he had ended up passing he had spent way too long getting drunk and partying and trying to forget about _everything_. There hadn’t been room to focus on anything but, and that meant homework went unfinished if he even started on it, and he’s pretty sure he never actually spoke with his study group.

“I know I don’t have the best track record,” Isak hisses, magnanimously ignoring Sana’s amused huff, “but this is serious for me too. Okay?”

“’ _Okay_ ’,” Sana imitates. It sounds more like a ‘ _prove it_ ’ than an agreement.

Isak doesn’t call her out on it. So be it on her if she doesn’t believe him, or doesn’t want to believe him. Isak is _not_ going to let that hinder him from turning this year around.

They’re painfully silent and it’s only amplified by everyone else in class talking around them. It sounds a bit too cheerful and carefree for being about possible topics, but Isak isn’t bothered enough to start listening in on mindless chatter.

Still, he should probably say something to Sana. He’s going to be working with her for _six months_ , and he isn’t going to let it bother him, but mutual animosity rarely rakes in the 6’s.

“So,” Isak clears his throat. Sana looks up at him, not in a glare, but not particularly friendly either. “Evolution and genetics. Is there… something in particular you like?”

Sana shrugs. Helpful, thy name is Sana.

“Depends,” she finally settles on when Isak is about to _lose it_ – or he isn’t, because he isn’t _bothered_.

“ _On_?”

Maybe he’s a little bit bothered.

“Well, we could always focus on evolutionary genetics,” Sana suggests. She opens up a blank document on her computer, “but I have a feeling _most_ of the other groups are going to do that.”

Isak snorts. Understatement of the year. He might not know any of their names, but he can already tell just from looking that _half_ of these people are just going to settle on a topic that’s a variation of the name of the class subject instead of examining _all the other topics_ they have to review.

“Right,” Isak agrees. “So what’s left? We have genetic mutations, heritage, we could do something on evolutionary processes?”

“Maybe.” Another shrug. “I quite like topics like behavioral genetics, you know, the topics in that area.”

Isak’s heart skips a beat and bears his fingernail down on his the skin of his thumb to avoid just blurting out ‘ _No. No, no, no, absolutely not_ ’.

He manages to utter a, “Cool,” instead, but it sounds too stiff and Sana picks up on it and raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him with a frown.

Isak winces. Fuck, so much for playing it cool.

“We don’t _have_ to do that.”

“No, no, I know,” the tone feels foreign in his mouth. He’s not usually the one to placate somebody, that’s Jonas’ territory. “It’s a good idea. Write it down.”

Anything to get her to look away from him again. _Behavioral genetics_ hits just a tiny bit too close to home, if Isak is honest. Sure, he’s already done a ton of research on it in his spare time, even if it has been a couple of years by now, so they would have an advantage that wouldn’t go amiss.

Still, he isn’t sure if he can go through with it.

“We should consider some more evolution-heavy topics as well,” Isak suggest. He skims the table of contents in their main book. “Maybe something like patterns of human evolution or genetic databases. Those are quite alright as well.”

Sana nods as she dutifully types, but she doesn’t look enthused, so Isak tries to suggest something else closer to what she wanted to do.

“Maybe we could find some more within genetic heritage,”

“I’m hearing a lot of talking, yet not a whole lot about science!” A voice overpowers everyone in the room.

Isak’s and Sana’s heads snap to attention. Yeah, alright, they’ve _only started brainstorming_ , surely he isn’t expecting them to have an _outline_ ready just yet –

“I know it’s exciting to talk about whatever celebrity it is I can hear you talking about, but try to focus now!”

Wait – celebrity?

Please, let it be an actor, a singer, hell, a _politician_ everyone is obsessed about and not –

“Honestly, it’s not like they don’t know Even Bech Næsheim is _from_ Oslo,” Sana mutters as she turns back to her computer.

Oh, damn. This is not happening. _This_ is _not_ happening.

“You a fan then?” Isak’s tongue nearly trips over the words from how it feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth, but the garble of noises that comes out is at least intelligible enough that Sana answers.

With an infuriating shrug. “You’re not?”

 _No_ , Isak wants to bitterly snap, but he doesn’t. Just shrugs back. “Don’t really care that much, to be honest. One of my roommates is crazy about him, though.”

That’s good, divert the attention away from himself. If only he could the topic away from Even _at all_.

He always feels like he’s being so goddamn obvious, like he’s practically screaming out ‘ _Even, Even, Even!_ ’, always has felt like that no matter how hard he tried to make it stop. It’s stupid, because there’s no reason why anyone would even think about him and Even in any relation to each other, there’s no reason why he should be worried or suspicious, but every time _his_ name mentioned, Isak’s mind goes off on a tangent of _they know, they’ll find out, they’ll know_.

“Oh, yeah – Magnus, right?”

Isak startles slightly, sliding down in his seat before he pushes against the edge of the table to stop it. God, that’s weird Sana knows that, but then again, Isak knew about Sana, so…

“Yeah,” he stutters. “Magnus.”

Sana doesn’t even look over at him, just writes down another topic and asks him what he thinks about that one.

OOOOO

It doesn’t get better the rest of the day.

Even during the lecture, people can’t seem to stop buzzing at the news. Every sentence either starts with ‘ _I was there_ ’ or ‘ _my friend was there_ ’ or ‘ _did you hear_ ’ and Isak thinks all of it is not only overrated but entirely exaggerated because, sure, Even is famous, people _love_ his movies and there aren’t a whole lot of people who haven’t at least heard of _one_ of the titles, but still. He isn’t an actor, he’s a director, and Isak hasn’t really ever heard of any other director creating this sort of frantic commotion.

Just his luck, huh?

Yeah, alright, he gets it. Oslo isn’t LA, or New York, or, hell, even London. There aren’t a ton of celebrities just wandering around on the street, let alone showing up at a university party. It’s natural that _some_ people would be talking about it. Not _this_ amount, though.

Isak ends up slamming the door to the bathroom shut so harshly he can hear it echoing out in the hall, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s locked up in a cubicle and has sat down on the closed toilet seat, ignoring the voice in his head talking about the amount of germs.

His skin feels too tight and he tries to alleviate the pressure by tugging harshly on chunks of his hair, grabbing onto one of the bigger curls to make it easier.

It doesn’t help. It just leaves him with a slight headache that was already too close to forming from stress and anxiety.

He turns on the sink too high. The water splatters onto the porcelain so forcefully it lands on his shirt. The cool water doesn’t even help, it just makes him _too aware_ and he ends up dry heaving for a good ten minutes before he tries to take a sip of water and compose himself enough to go back to the world.

This wasn’t how he planned on _his year_ starting out.

“ _What do you think he was doing there_?” is the first thing he hears when he steps out of the bathroom.

Two girls are walking near the end of the hallway, but they’re talking loudly enough that he can still hear them.

“He used to go to UiO for film, didn’t he? Maybe he was just visiting some old friends.”

“Don’t think he was looking for a _girlfriend_ , then?” the girl on the left playfully nudges her elbow into her friend’s side until she starts laughing and pushes her away.

“Pretty sure he already _has_ a girlfriend.”

“Who, his PR or PA or management or whatever else she does? Sonja something?”

“Yeah, weren’t they –“

Isak runs to his right, away from the girl, and takes two steps up the staircase. If he doesn’t get away now, he’ll just have to go back into the bathroom until he really does throw up.

 _He can do this_ , he tries to convince himself even as he stumbles over the last step and nearly faceplants in front of a group of people. He ignores the snickering as he passes them and tries to focus on remembering the next auditorium he has to be in instead. He just has to focus on his coursework, on meticulously taking notes – more so than he already does, thank you very much – even when it’s boring or he’s already understood the subject.

He’s a good student, he knows that – has always been one apart from last year. Now he just needs to prove it to everyone else.

Isak sits through a lecture he doesn’t understand shit of. It doesn’t help that all the people around him are nodding and agreeing and acting like this is basic knowledge you should already know when applying for this program, and Isak is just sitting there, staring at the slides the professor runs through.

Everything being said goes in through one ear and out through the other, and Isak only manages to rile himself up even further at the thought of how many hours he’ll have to stay up tonight to read through the content until he understands it.

He tries to get out of the hall quickly, but he’s stuck behind a couple of stragglers blocking off his only exit, so he has to stand there awkwardly as they finish packing away their stuff. It’s just his luck that there’s a group two rows in front of him talking about _Him_ , and then there are curious inquiries as to what is going on, what happened, who is it they’re talking about, and before Isak has managed to get out of there, people are throwing around whatever bullshit they’ve heard.

Isak pushes his lips together in irritation to all the rumors as he bounds out of there, catching the tram right before it leaves. He’s winded and a bit sweaty, but the carriage is mostly empty, so he takes a seat the furthest away from the two teenage girls near the back.

He also shoves his ear buds in for good measure. The girls might be talking about some boy at their school right now, but before you know it, it’s all about the latest gossip and Isak can’t, he _can’t_ handle hearing that stupid, goddamn name again today, he _can’t_.

Like that name hasn’t been floating around in his head for goddamn _years_ , now it’s also being thrown at him from every single direction, and Isak feels like _screaming_. And crying. Isak feels like crying, can feel the lump in his throat grow so big he can’t breathe, can’t swallow his own spit, but much to his own surprise he doesn’t break down in tears. He doesn’t cry at all.

He feels so _fucked up_ , so messed up and torn apart, like a tornado has gone through him, and it feels just as bad as when Even _left in the first place_ , because back then he’d thought he’d gotten it right and he had finally started to think that again with _his boys_ , that he could be someone’s friend and not fuck it all up, but he was wrong about Even and he’s apparently wrong about this as well, because he hasn’t gotten it right. Had he ever, or was this just something that had been waiting to happen?

He’s fucked up being a friend, has fucked things up with his boys, had _nearly_ fucked up his entire first _year_ of university, that’s _two whole semesters_ worth of fucking up. The first one he’d spent most of simply black out drunk, and the next one he’d spent slightly more sober, but still unable to connect with anyone and not be a complete asshole. He hadn’t been able to focus on his classes at all, but had at least been able to spend his sleepless nights studying instead.

Jonas had _tried_ so hard during their breakfast to pretend everything was normal, and Magnus and Mahdi had tried as well, but Mahdi had been more careful with his words than he has been since Isak first met him, and Magnus had constantly switched between not being able to stop staring at Isak like he’s never met him before and not being able to look at Isak at all.

It’s _awkward_ and Isak feels awful about it even as he knows he shouldn’t. Or, partly, because part of it is his fault; he wouldn’t have worried them that badly if he hadn’t run off like that and stayed away for so long. He wouldn’t have been in this mess if he’d only –

Isak stops that thought by getting off the tram so quickly he nearly falls over when he trips over his feet going down the stairs.

The thing is, even though Isak hasn’t told them about – not even about Even, about _himself_ – he considers those three guys his best friends. He doesn’t think he’s ever had friends as close as those three, not counting Eskild and Even, because Eskild had always been a bit of the older ‘guru’ despite only being four years older than him, and Even, well Even was just in an entirely different league of his own, so he shouldn’t, doesn’t, count either.

Isak hates how much he’s still like that fifteen, then sixteen, then seventeen, then eighteen, then nineteen year old who didn’t want to tell anyone that he doesn’t like girls. Sometimes it feels like he’s supposed to have had some type of character growth that the movies always make out to be so important, but he’s just been stuck for five years in the same mindset, with the same fears and worries, and he still doesn’t want to tell anyone.

There’s a small voice in the back of his head whispering to him how good it is that he hasn’t come out, because if he had, wouldn’t the boys have come to the conclusion that the reason Even knows him was because he ‘ _knows_ ’ him? Isak tries to convince himself that he doesn’t hear that voice, even as it’s the only thing filling his head.

It’s not something he’s _deliberately_ keeping away from them and _only_ them, it’s _everyone_ Isak doesn’t want to know that personal fact about him, and that’s _fine_. He’s allowed to not want to share everything, even if this is a bit bigger than taking the last bit of milk and forgetting to buy a new carton.

They had all moved in together because they _wanted_ to move in _together_ , the four of them, ‘ _Just how it should be_ ,’ Magnus had crowed into their ears as he’d folded his arms over their shoulders and drawn them into a hug that smelled too much of beer and sweat to be as pleasant as it was in Isak’s memory.

But ‘just how it should be’ most certainly isn’t _this_. It isn’t Jonas biting his lips before saying something, it isn’t Magnus acting oddly around Isak, and it isn’t Mahdi being so goddamn reserved. It’s putting Isak on edge, more than he already is, which at this point is _quite a lot, actually_ , and he shouldn’t be walking around feeling like this in his _home_.

He has tried so hard. He has been trying for so many years now, and for just a moment in time, he thought _he had it_. He had friends, he had a home, he had a home _with_ his friends, and it had finally felt like life was turning around for him, and now he’s left with tension and more difficulties and Isak doesn’t know what to do.

There are _pictures_ of them together scattered around the living room, originating back from when Eva had come around and scolded them and said this place needed to feel less like a pigsty and more like a home, that they were grown-ups and their house should ‘reflect that’.

The most grown-up things they’d been able to think of buying were pictures and sofa cushions, so now their grey sofa has yellow and orange cushions, and there are pictures hung up on the walls and scattered around on whatever flat surfaces were left. They’d gone to IKEA and gotten the frames and then printed the pictures off of their Instagrams on the university’s printer.

There are the stupid pictures of them fooling around, then there are the sweet group pictures where they’re all smiling. There’s one of Isak studying in their kitchen, the sun behind him, there’s one of Jonas and Mahdi shouting at the camera and holding up bottles of beer, and there’s one with Magnus smiling dopily at an out-of-frame Vilde. Isak’s picture is the only one with no smiles to be seen. Isak tries desperately not to reflect on that.

Just like how he doesn’t reflect on how in each of their individual rooms the others have put up pictures of their families, their current friends, the friends they don’t see as often because of life. Jonas has pictures of him and Eva and Eva alone, and Isak has nothing. Not a single picture.

He doesn’t think about the shoebox, whose contents feel forbidden, that he has hidden away in the top back of his closet, on the only shelf there. It’s stuffed underneath a pile of clothes and behind stacks of books from his previous semesters that he’ll probably never use ever again. It’s the perfect hiding place, because even if the boys decide to brave the contents of his closet, there’s no way they’d even think of going up there.

Isak is doing a lot of that lately, of carefully strategizing, of hiding, of faking, of _pretending_ – all of which he hates and has berated whoever was close enough to hear after a few too many drinks about, and here he is, doing the same shit as always.

It feels like he’s always doing it, never stopping. He never gets a reprieve and he _hates_ that he desperately wants to blame Even for it, but he _can’t_. First of all, it’s not fair – this particular case excluded, because Even showing up in Oslo after having been away for so long has certainly been the catalyst in Isak’s rapidly declining wellbeing, but other than that, it’s all Isak’s doing.

That just makes him feel worse. The fact that it’s himself who is causing all of this pain makes Isak feel dizzy, his stomach swooping uncomfortably.

Stepping in through his front door makes his stomach curl in on itself instead. For a moment, Isak seriously contemplates just not walking in, just walking back out onto the street and never coming back. Would it be easier? Would it be better?

It wouldn’t. He can already tell himself that, at least. It wouldn’t be better, even if things are so incredibly shitty right now, _leaving_ would do no good for Isak.

So he steps inside. His keys rattle in the lock, but not so loudly that the guys hear him before the door slams shut behind and he yells out the customary “ _Hello?_ ” they always do to check who is home.

Fifteen minutes. He’d gotten a fifteen minute break between leaving the university and arriving home, and now he’s right back to pretending that everything is alright, that there isn’t a giant fucking pink tutu-wearing elephant dancing around in the room that Isak put there.

Isak is pretending when he tries to smile at the boys. He’s pretending when he’s listening to them talking about their day, about whatever parties are coming up, about the girls they want to get with. He’s pretending when he’s in school and he’s pretending when he’s at home and he’s pretending with the people he’s supposed to call his closest friends, the people he _considers_ his closest friends, even if they might not consider the same about him.

He’s pretending that the boys aren’t all pretending as well when they skirt around topics, when even Magnus refrains from talking about movies or his coursework, because media studies and Even might be too closely related to each other for Isak not to freak out again.

He only stops pretending when he closes his bedroom door behind him quietly, but only so much that he isn’t putting on a fake smile for everyone, because in truth he never really _stops_ pretending, even around himself. He pretends, because maybe if he keeps on doing it for long enough, it’ll be so engrained in him it’ll be the truth, the only truth.

He slumps down against his door, sliding all the way down until his bum hits the ground with a too loud _bump_. He puts his head in his hands.

He still can’t breathe.

**_ Past _ **

Moving into the Kollektiv goes surprisingly seamlessly.

Isak can chalk it up to how everything leading up to it, how it’s been his dad leaving, the tirades of religious zeal, his mom being sick enough to being moved into a facility care, the constant worries and self-destructive behaviors Isak has picked up on over time, has been so much more difficult than anything Isak has ever experienced before, that the process of moving that everyone usually complains about just doesn’t really compare.

A lot of it is also because of Even – lovely, lovely Even who is spread out on his bed, laptop open on his stomach as he’s typing away. Isak doesn’t know whether it’s homework or ideas or an actual script, but they’re nearing midterms and Even is a _senior_ , so Isak hopes it’s homework he’s working on.

Isak _doubts_ it, but there’s a first for everything.

He can’t tell if it is schoolwork or not Even’s working on. They don’t attend the same high school and they don’t follow the same study line. Even goes to Bakka while Isak goes to Nissen, because he for sure won’t be going to any of those pretentious-ass schools – he’s not an obnoxious hipster and he isn’t rolling in wealth. Still, he’s looked over Even’s shoulder enough that at this point, he probably knows enough to be able to do Even’s program at Bakka, but beyond Even, Isak is not interested in movies or media in the slightest, so Nissen will have to do.

It also helps that Elias and his crew of tormentors don’t go there, so it not only physically but also mentally felt like a new beginning, a fresh start.

Isak chances a look at Even’s screen, but Even’s flying through documents and tabs and browsers and videos faster than Isak manages to grasp. Honestly, Even can’t possibly be taking any of it in, either. Then he’s back to a document, typing away for a second before he repeats the process.

It’s… quite a bit _more_ than what Even usually is, but Isak has only been living in the Kollektiv for nearly a week now, everything is still new and a bit exciting, so it’s understandable why Even is more wired than Isak has previously seen. It’s not like it’s a lot, just _more_ in some way.

Plus, there’s also the extra added factor of nervousness at Eskild catching Even in his room. They already have a cover in case it happens – friends from school – but that excuse doesn’t really work if Eskild catches them during the night and asks why they’re cuddled up to each other half-naked.

Not exactly what ‘just friends’ do.

“What are you working on?” Isak asks as he turns off the lamp at his desk. His Norwegian essay can wait until tomorrow.

The joints in his back pop when he stretches back to look at Even, who is already watching him, smiling coyly as he lets his eyes linger over the length of his torso, his arms. Isak flushes, which only makes Even’s grin widen, but he lets it lie and looks back at his computer instead.

“Hmm?” Isak tries again when Even still hasn’t answered.

Isak is twisted around on his desk chair – or, Noora’s desk chair. It still feels weird that he’s essentially using someone else’s furniture, someone else’s belongings, but Noora hadn’t been able to bring anything with her to Spain, and it’s not like Isak had a lot of his own that he wanted to bring instead – so he can look at Even, his arms resting over the back on the dark blue padding.

“Is it a secret?”

Even’s smile takes over his face, like that in itself is a much better story than whatever he’s working on. Isak can see the thoughts flying around in his head as his mind comes up with endless possibilities, but Isak isn’t really interested in all of those for a change.

It’s causality; Even smiles so Isak smiles, no question of correlation here. It makes something in Isak’s stomach twirl happily as he rests his cheek on his folded up arms.

Even hums noncommittally. “The most secret of secrets.”

The sun is hanging low on the sky, just barely shining in through Isak’s windows. It makes the white walls look golden with white patches in the shape of the window frame. Gold and red leaves frame the glass and all of it is positioned just so perfectly that the sun shines directly on Even while his face is blocked off. It makes his hair a lot more golden than it really is and Isak thinks he looks ethereal.

“So _not_ your homework, then,” Isak teases and hides his smile in his arms when Even leans his head back up against the wall and groans dramatically.

“What are you, my _mother_?” Even groans.

 _No_ , Isak thinks to himself as he gets up off of his chair. _I’m your_ boyfriend.

It’s not as difficult to say in his mind anymore, but actually saying the words out loud? Yeah, that’s not going to happen, no thank you.

It’s like Even hears him anyway, because his eyes go soft and he gets that look on his face Isak always endlessly teases him about, even if it means Even gets to tease him right back for the similar look _Isak_ gets whenever he sees Even.

Isak vehemently denies he looks at Even with anything that could be described as ‘fondness’. He is a rock, a cold, hard rock – none of that mushy stuff for him.

Isak pads across the distance between the desk and the bed on socked feet until he can knee his way up the mattress, up over Even’s body. Even accommodates him by pushing the laptop off of his stomach and onto the bed. His breath leaves his body in a harsh ‘ _umph_ ’ when Isak drops his torso onto Even’s legs so his face is pressed into Even’s stomach.

“You comfy?” Even wheezes, but Isak can feel him breathing so he knows it’s pretend.

Isak hums and nuzzles his face into Even’s stomach, following the flat planes and the dip of his bellybutton. Even’s hand reaches into his hair, twirls around a few strands to tug. It makes Isak’s toes curl and he looks up to smile shyly at Even.

Who looks at Isak like he’s pretty sure he’s actually a mirage. And then reaches over and starts typing something onto his computer.

“Sudden inspiration?” Isak teases. He presses a kiss on Even’s stomach through his t-shirt. The _click-clacks_ of the keyboard pause for a second before Even continues.

It’s been less than five hours since Even had poured out a soliloquy about why he was showing up right now, because Isak seemed to be his muse and it was of utmost importance he was around him to work properly. He’d promised Isak he would dedicate odes to his entire being, to which Isak had reminded him he wrote manuscripts, he wasn’t a poet. Even had tutted at him and talked about artists and working in different art forms, and Isak had silenced him by kissing him until Even started talking about what he’d come over to do.

Honestly, it was more down to luck than knowledge that Even had showed up exactly when he did. Usually, they work off of precise time schedules that calculate when Eskild will be either a) busy – doing what, Isak does not care nor does he particularly want to know – or b) out of the building entirely and Linn is a) out or b) asleep so that Isak can get Even in and out without either of them noticing Isak has someone over to visit.

“Absolutely,” Even agrees, typing some more. “So if you could just stay there and be absolutely adorable, that’d be a real help, dear.”

Isak’s nose scrunches up in disdain. “’ _Adorable_ ’,” he huffs, sinks his teeth into Even’s shirt just hard enough Even will be able to feel the scrape on his skin. “Piss off. I’m not adorable in the _slightest_.”

Even’s hum tries to be placating, but Isak isn’t fooled into believing him for even a second, so he presses another bite further up on Even’s ribs.

“Hey,” Even shudders, reaches out to grab onto Isak’s hair again. He tugs once a bit harshly, but he doesn’t direct Isak’s head away from his torso. “Menace.” And then he launches into a ramble about plot points and key elements and Isak doesn’t actually know which story he’s working on, so it all flies over his head.

Even’s also talking so quickly it’s difficult to keep up with, even if Isak had known the thoughts and theories behind it.

Isak grins as he rolls off of Even to land heavily on the free bit of mattress along Even’s side. It’s cool to the touch and it feels nice again his cheek, but it’s quite like the same temperature as the rest of the room in general. Isak should really get to asking Eskild about the heating situation before it’s dire or he’s already gotten ill for the first time this season.

Still, it feels nicer when Even curls his arm around Isak’s shoulder and pulls him in close until he’s more so lying on Even than on the bed.

It’s so easy to let his body relax completely, something Isak rarely lets himself do. It’s so easy to just close his eyes and _breathe_ , because Even is warm underneath him and is happily rambling at him and it just feels so easy.

It’s definitely easy enough that he’s about to fall asleep.

Even must be able to feel it, some type of extra heaviness on his chest from Isak, can probably feel his breathing evening out to these deep in- and exhalations.

He doesn’t let him, though. Instead, Even sits up, forcing Isak to sit up along with him, and he doesn’t stop no matter how much Isak groans and tries to shuffle his nose into the crook of Even’s neck, right against his collarbone. Even just presses a kiss to his forehead and starts tugging at Isak’s sweatshirt, helping him get his arms in order so he can pull it off of him.

With enough persuasion, Even gets Isak to stumble onto his feet and go to the bathroom and brush his teeth for the night. The tiles in the shower are still wet, so either Eskild just left or Linn is home and probably asleep by now. Either way, they’re not going to be disturbed.

When he gets back to his room, Even is still lying on the bed, gazing out of the window like there’s something more important out there, something that should have his focus other than Isak, and Isak obviously can’t allow that, so he flops face-first sideways onto the bed. His stomach ends up over Even’s thighs, and he more so knocks out his own breath than amounts to have any impact on Even.

Even just laughs and scoots up the bed until he can pull his legs free and roll Isak over onto his back.

Isak’s limbs already feel sleep heavy, despite the brief pause to the bathroom that usually would’ve had his brain and body awake and ready to go again for at least two hours. He’s lethargic when Even pulls him up to sit so he can slide his t-shirt off of him in a similar manner as he’d done with the hoodie.

Next goes his jeans, once Isak has flopped back onto the bed, bouncing twice before he settles. Even presses a kiss to his bare stomach, right above the hem of Isak’s jeans. It feels nice, so Isak make sure to hum his appreciation as he scratches his nails along the nape of Even’s neck.

The bed is still warm underneath him from where they’d just been lying and where Even has been for the past couple of hours. That makes it so much easier to just sink into it, even as Even starts tutting at him to cooperate.

Isak doesn’t do much more than lie there, but Even still manages to work his jeans down his legs and discard them. The button clangs slightly against the floor, but Isak only just hears it over Even getting him to shuffle up to the pillows and under the covers.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Even cards his hand through Isak’s hair. It feels nice and Isak is quite fond of this bubble that’s seemingly formed around the two of them where they’re safely tucked away in his room.

“Lay down next to me, then,” Isak counters.

Even rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling and complies with Isak’s wishes without a single protest.

Isak falls asleep to the feeling of Even getting up again.

There are times where Isak wants to shout out that he likes Even, that Even likes him back, that Even is his _boyfriend_ , and just as quickly as the impulse comes, it dissipates and Isak is left with the urge to huddle up in his room with Even behind closed doors.

He doesn’t know if that makes him a coward or if it makes him smart. There’s no one around for him to ask, no one to get a second opinion from, and that’s fine, really, it is. For every second that Isak gets the urge to just _say it_ , he has _hours_ and _days_ where he’s so inexplicably relieved that no one knows yet he still gets to go home and be with Even.

It’s a system that works for them. It’s no one’s business but their own, anyway.

Isak falls in and out of consciousness for the couple of hours the night lasts. He wakes up whenever Even starts moving around, going from the bed to the floor to the desk, whenever Even gets so excited about whatever his mind has managed to conjure up that he can’t keep the laughter in or he just _has_ to say that line out loud.

When he wakes up for longer than just a few seconds, the sun has started to peek in, and Isak can feel that it is way too early to be up, even if it wasn’t the weekend.

Isak stretches lazily as he turns over on his side so he can look over at Even who is sitting by the desk, laptop open and fingers flying over the keys. There’s nothing that tells him Even knows he’s awake.

“Even,” Isak whines, pushes his bottom lip out a bit in a pout to exaggerate but also entice. “Come and lie with me.”

Even twists around on the desk chair and Isak can see it forming on his lips, the rejection, the explanation that he _just has to finish this next bit, Isak_ , and Isak is already bracing himself for it.

But then, when Even really looks at him, it’s like something in his eyes softens and he kind of slumps a bit in his seat. Exhaustion is probably catching up to him, Isak thinks, and he stretches backwards to scoot his body further back, leaving a warm spot on the bed open for Even to curl up next to him in.

“Alright,” Even agrees – he’s rolling his eyes at Isak’s theatrics when Isak can’t help but grin widely at having gotten his way, but Isak _has_ gotten his way, so he doesn’t feel the need to call him out on it. “I’ll lie with you until you fall asleep.”

Isak’s pout returns. He knows Even hasn’t slept the entire night, but there is something about him, some restless energy buzzing around in him that just won’t settle.

Even raises his arm so Isak can curl in close up against him, his own left arm curls around Even’s chest as his head comes to rest on Even’s shoulder. Isak is still sleep warm and Even’s slightly cooler temperature feels nice against him, like a fresh change that makes his eyelids fall heavy as it becomes a struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Noooo,” Isak sighs, nuzzles his face against the hard line of Even’s shoulder. “Tell me about what you’re writing.”

Isak doesn’t have to be looking at Even to know how he looks right now; that fond look that simultaneously makes Isak both want to curl up in bed with him and look around nervously to see if anyone’s paying attention to them. Still, it makes him feel warm and safe and Isak might, _might_ , be falling too hard too fast.

“I’m not telling you if you’re going to fall asleep halfway through,” Even pushes gently at Isak’s body, making him rock back and forth a couple times before he settles again.

“I won’t,” Isak protests, but he knows he will. He’s already struggling to stay awake, and having Even’s voice almost narrating what’s going on in his head will set him off even quicker.

“You will,” Even tells him matter of factly, but he still launches into the story he’s working on.

Isak stays awake halfway through. He gets out a murmur of, “ _You still owe me a beach story_ ,” before he’s out like a light.

He wakes up again in the middle of the day. Even’s still being a busy bee, but now it’s from beside Isak on the bed and he’s scribbling something on a notepad so he wouldn’t have to move to get the laptop still perched open, screen dark from inactivity or maybe lack of battery, on the desk.

It’s so late that Isak can hear both Eskild and Linn bumbling around in the flat, and it makes his heart pick up a beat too fast. Even notices he’s awake.

“Yeah,” Even says in lieu of a good morning. He does bend down to press a kiss to the top of Isak’s head. “Didn’t want to wake you up before them. You’re too beautiful when you sleep.”

It’s risky doing this – any of it, really, but not getting up before Eskild and Linn are stumbling around the flat is almost like asking to be caught. Isak knows this, Even knows this, and Isak can feel his stomach starting to twist up in anxiety already. Any thoughts he’d had yesterday about his room being a bubble for just the two of them has popped at the prospect of other people’s proximity to them.

Isak doesn’t tell him it’s fine, because he isn’t sure if it is. It’s Sunday, probably around midday judging by the light, and Isak knows Even has plans with his parents this afternoon. Plus, it’s not like they’re able to just hide Even away in Isak’s room for an entire day, as nice as the thought is.

Isak _does_ tilt his head back until Even appeasingly bends down to press a lazy kiss to his lips.

As uncomfortable that Isak is that Even has stayed, he’s also incredibly pleased that he got to wake up to this.

Even presses another kiss to his forehead and then turns back to whatever he was doodling on the pad of paper. When Isak turns to look at it he can see it’s some type of storyboard, but it’s too doodle-y for him to see what the story is actually about. It could be aliens, it could be penguins, Isak can’t tell.

He can the leftover strips of ripped papers see by the edge of the pad, revealing just how large an amount of papers that have hastily been torn out while Isak was sleeping.

Glancing over his room, it’s quite easy to see that Even hasn’t been sleeping next to him this entire time.

It looks a little bit like a very small hurricane has swept through while Isak was asleep. There are scrunched up paper balls littered all over the ground, discarded ideas of Even’s, but some of them look like they’ve deliberately been placed there, with Isak’s school books set up like walls of a mini-set, and every single blue article of clothing Isak owns strewn out on the middle of the floor in something that could vaguely resemble waves.

Isak doesn’t really know what to do with any of this.

“Did you get some sleep?” Isak asks even as he’s 100% certain of the answer being negative.

Even doesn’t even give him a proper answer. He grins like he’s just let Isak in on a funny secret and kisses him until he _has_ to go.

The next ten minutes pass with Even humming theme music for spy movies under his breath, grinning whenever Isak hisses for him to stay quiet as he goes into the hallway to figure out where Eskild and Linn are in the guise of going to the bathroom.

They’re both in the kitchen which means Isak hasn’t got a chance of sneaking Even out of the front door _or_ the backdoor. Shit.

“Alright,” Isak whispers when he ducks back into his room. His hear is pounding and he tries to convince himself it’s just from Even and nothing else in order to calm down. “I’ll have to go keep their attention on me. Then you can sneak out the front door.”

“Proper Romeo and Juliet, don’t you think?” Even kisses Isak again before Isak can protest that _now_ may not be the time to do anything but focus on getting out without bringing attention onto themselves.

Still, it works and Isak feels his body slump down a bit in relief of being so near Even. They can do this, they _have_ to.

Isak sneaks out into the hallway, but he has to pause before he enters the kitchen to suck in a deep breath. _He can do this_.

“Hey.”

Eskild jumps from where he’d had his back to Isak, one hand flying out to clutch the kitchen counter, the other to grab onto his chest over his heart like the dramatic ass he is.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Eskild whines. “You’re going to end up giving me a heart attack! Make some noise when you enter a room, why don’t you?”

Isak snorts and doesn’t apologize as he goes over to get a cup of water. His heart is pounding as he simultaneously tries to think of something to say and to listen out for if he can hear Even get out safely.

“Don’t need to when you make enough noise for two,” Isak teases, chugs the water and opens the fridge to see if they have any juice as well. God, does this count as a tell that he’s hiding something? Drinking a lot?

Linn snorts, but she turns away from the sink to look over at Isak, finally facing away from the entrance to the kitchen. “Fucking hypocrite, you are. What, have you been redecorating your room? You look a bit too well-rested to have spent all of it awake.”

Isak tilts his head to the side in confusion. What on earth is she talking about?

“Oh,” Isak breathes out. _Shit_ , had Even been making so much noise? Not enough that Isak woke up from it, but enough that _Linn_ would? “Shit, sorry.”

He should probably tell her to come knock on his door the next time it happens, so he won’t keep her up again – he probably would’ve had it only been him in his room. The problem is it’s _not_ just Isak in his room.

Linn huffs loudly enough the sound of the front door closing isn’t audible.

Isak’s heart doesn’t stop pounding until he has finished grabbing a bite to eat with his housemates and has checked the entire apartment for Even, just in case.

OOOOO

Two days later, Even shows up at Isak’s front door.

It’s too early. Isak knows Even’s class only finished ten minutes ago and the tram doesn’t leave for another five minutes after that. He looks at him questioningly, but Even doesn’t say anything, even as he probably knows that Isak's realized he has played hooky.

Even’s swaddled in a winter coat that looks too warm for the just chilly air outside, and he looks tired.

He still smiles sweetly at Isak and kisses him hello, but afterwards he falls into bed and sleeps for eleven hours straight, barely tossing and turning like usual. Four times, Isak curls in close to him for no other reason than to check he’s still breathing.

When he wakes up the next morning, Isak jokes that he must’ve been tired, teasing him that he shouldn’t spend so many nights awake just so he can write. Even gets a distant look in his eyes at that and his smile seems more like he’s putting on a mask.

Isak can’t help but feel like he’s missed something, a bigger part of the story, the clue that foreshadows the climax, exactly what Even always berates him about needing to be the most advanced and difficult thing to write, to _perfect_.

Isak bites his tongue, looks at Even sleeping in his bed and reminds himself that his life isn’t a movie and that he shouldn’t think of it as plot points that perfectly fits into the Narrative Arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a bioscience major myself, but I recall from my extensive googling that a subtopic of behavioral genetics is mental illnesses (including bipolar disorder).
> 
> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/621972241204314112/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy 30k, Batman! Or, 28k, but I think it's close enough to fairly round it up. Let's get some spreadsheet-facts going! This is the longest chapter in the entire story (andstillnoevendamn) and actually amounts to 17% of the total word count. The second longest chapter is chapter 10, which constitutes 14% of the total word count (I wasn't kidding, I did make spreadsheets and graphs). This is also the chapter where we pass 100 pages, landing on page 138 with the ending of the chapter. Yup, you read that right. 100. goddamn. pages. Kudos to whoever can guess the closest to the total page-count for the entire story.
> 
> Parts of the present - in particular the *spoilers* party was thought out to "We Are Young" by FUN and "I Don't Care" by Ed Sheeran, but not actually written to them as I found them too distracting. Parts of the past were however written to Talia Lahoud's cover of "Hey there Delilah" [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAMM6vbiFpM) as well as small parts every once in a while in future chapters. I just love that cover.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who has been leaving kudos and commenting - it's so cool getting to hear you guys' thoughts and to interact with you, so thank you! <3
> 
> Cue the return of our goddesses, Sana and Eskild, starring Isak staring out of the window like he's been cast in the most angsty teen drama to ever exist, and insecure boyfriends who love each other enough to be willing to risk letting each other in.

**_ Present _ **

The week seems to just drag on and on and come Friday, Isak is _exhausted_. It takes just about everything to get out of bed, his limbs feel all heavy and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and overall he feels like he’s coming down with the flu or has the worst hangover of his _life_.

At least Friday is the only day he doesn’t have morning classes, but even getting up at 9 o’clock instead of 6 doesn’t do a whole lot for him – not when he’s spent the better part of the night tossing and turning because he just can’t seem to fall asleep. At all.

Isak has always had a bit of tendency to insomnia, something that had gotten severely worse after – well, _after_. But after a while, when he’d really started to get on with Jonas and was figuring things out with Mahdi and Magnus, it had gotten better. Mind you, there was still the odd night with no more than two hours of sleep, but those were the exception rather than the rule.

Things haven’t been _this_ bad for a while and Isak can feel the anger bubbling away inside of him.

He had been getting better, he was _going_ to be _better_ this year, and now he feels all out of sorts in his own home. He’s terrified of walking around in Oslo or on campus grounds because _what if_ he runs into Mikael, what if he runs into _Even_ – no matter that by studying bio-science he’s in a completely different section of the university, the thought that Even could be within walking distance at any moment in time makes Isak _terrified_.

Isak stumbles around the flat noisily as he tries to get ready. He splashes water onto his face three times, but it has little effect on waking him up and _no_ effect on getting rid of the slowly turning more prominent dark circles underneath his eyes. The two cups of coffee help a little wake him up, but he also ends up feeling a little sick from drinking too much hot coffee too quickly and too early.

He’s always been organized about his things so it doesn’t take long to gather his books, his notebook – just in case, because mapping out formulas and equations on a laptop can be goddamn awful – his laptop, the charger and stuffed his phone in his pocket, he should be ready to go.

He’s already put on his jacket and a beanie to hide away the atrocious state his hair is in, he should probably be bringing out a scarf soon if the wind is going to be so persistently cold already.

It’s that thought that makes him take one last look around his room. He isn’t even looking for his scarf, isn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe that’s what sets him off.

Isak’s room isn’t empty. It’s furnished, he has curtains up, posters on the walls; one of the periodic table and another of the atomic structures for alcohol, caffeine and adrenaline drawn with funny faces on them. He has bed sheets and lamps and a bedside table and everything that _should_ make his room feel like a home.

And it just, _doesn’t_.

It feels like someone has cut Isak’s strings and everything just feels so overwhelming for a second, like that walls are trying to close in on him, this apartment that he three years ago never would’ve thought would need to be a reality, _his_ reality. Because Isak’s reality had been _Even_ and their shitty one room apartment on the fourth floor with no elevator and their tiny kitchen and it had been _their life_ together.

Maybe it’s from his surprise run in with Even or maybe it’s the recent thought he’d had walking through the apartment, how there are personal pictures hung around everywhere _but_ his room, but now the thoughts and the feelings are there and they won’t _go away_.

All of it has just been building up to this moment and now that it’s finally here it hits Isak like a freight train and all he can do when his knees give out is aim at landing on the bed.

He bounces, once, but it’s enough to make him almost slide down onto the floor. Isak curls his hands into the duvet, scrunching it up and making crease marks that go across the stripes printed on the fabric. He keeps looking around the room frantically, like maybe the next time he looks, something will have changed, something will be different and he’ll be _okay_.

Because the truth is Isak isn’t dealing with it. He hasn’t been dealing at all for all of these years, and as much as he is constantly running on fumes and denial, it isn’t helping him. Not in the long run, and Isak _hates_ that he can’t continue like this, because as much as he hates the anxiety and the constant stress of worrying, it’s much more preferable to the thought of everyone _knowing_.

Isak stuffs his wrist into his mouth in reflex to muffle whatever noises threaten to slip out. He can’t remember if it’s always been this hard to breathe.

OOOOO

As much as Isak lets himself struggle when he’s on his own, when he’s in public, no one would be able to tell there’s anything different from this Isak to the one two, three, four and so on weeks ago.

He walks the halls with his back straight and an indifferent look on his face, like nothing in the world could possibly bother him. He pays attention in class and takes notes and tries desperately to look like he actually understands what’s going on, tries so hard to focus in on the words droning on and on and not on anything else. And if people stop to talk to him, he smiles and he laughs and he makes nice all the while ignoring how every single interaction drains him until he’s worried there will be nothing left of him by the end of the day.

While the bigger part of his first year had been a bit of a shit-storm, once he’d gotten on Jonas’ good side it had seemed necessary to fall in line with how he, Mahdi and Magnus had been acting, which meant all the university parties Isak had only been attending to get embarrassingly drunk he was now attending to still get drunk, but under the guise of talking and trying to get with pretty girls.

It had been stupidly easy to imitate the guys, so easy to mimic their body languages, to smile at the girls like he was letting them in on a secret just between the two of them, easy to talk smoothly and slowly gain the reputation of a flirt despite not having kissed a single person.

What _wasn’t_ easy was everything that came after that. Girls _wanted_ to talk to him, but most of the time they wanted a lot _more_ than just talking, and Isak has absolutely no reason to feel guilty about the prospects of getting to hook up, but guilt is a lot easier to handle than the at best indifference and at worst disgust at the thought of having to hook up with girls.

He could explain the guilt away – just gotten out of a serious relationship, he still feels weird about being close to other people, blah, blah, blah – but the other parts? Those were a dead giveaway.

So he makes nice and counts down the minutes until he can go home.

During the last fifteen minutes of a lecture, his phone _pings_ with a message from Sana reminding him about their scheduled study session he honestly had forgotten everything about.

_Remember we’re meeting in the library in 20_

Isak groans and ignores the dirty looks the people next to him send for interrupting. He gets another text before he can reply.

_You did remember, right?_

Isak scoffs even though he knows Sana won’t know.

_Course I did. See you there_

Guess he’s doing this, then. His body feels heavy at the thought alone, so he stops at one of the on-campus cafés and gets two large coffees to go.

“Hey,” Isak greets as he sinks down into the chair across from Sana, bringing out his laptop and debating whether he should get out his book already as well or if they’re probably just going to be browsing the internet.

The internal debate means Isak ends up not realizing the complete silence from the other side of the table before it’s been stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable.

Isak looks up – sure enough, it is Sana, he hasn’t gotten the wrong table, but it’s a Sana who looks like she’s just bit into a lemon the way she’s scowling at him.

“I’m not late,” Isak snaps, because he _isn’t_.

Sana scowls even harder.

“And I didn’t forget we were meeting.”

He had forgotten.

“You did,” Sana replies. Isak doesn’t even bother looking outraged or protesting because, yeah, he had, sue him. “That’s not my problem.”

Isak has enough problems already, thank you very much. A deep sigh escapes him involuntarily, and he regrets it immediately because all it amounts to is Sana now looking _angry_ as well. “What _is_ your problem, then?”

Sana doesn’t reply. She looks at something past Isak’s shoulder, and Isak almost turns around in his seat to see if _he_ isn’t the problem but someone _behind him_ is – which, honestly, would be a well-needed break clearly brought by the gods above finally looking out for him.

“You need to do something for me.”

Hold the phone, sister. Isak’s hand freezes from where he’d been about to type in his password on his computer. “ _What_?”

Sana rolls her eyes. Isak can only just manage to see it from where she’s now scowling into her book that’s opened on the preface.

“I think it’s called, ‘ _I need you to do something for me_ ,” Isak points out. “At least, that’s how you ask it when you need a favor from someone.”

Sana shrugs and still doesn’t look up at him. “I said what I said.”

Isak stares incredulously at her. Honestly, _what_?

Sana sighs long-sufferingly and finally looks up at him. “It’s only because of something Noora said.”

Noora? Isak mentally goes through every single girl he’s ever shared a class with who also probably has shared a class with Sana and comes up with… no one.

“Noora?”

Sana stares at him like _he’s_ the idiot and not the one who apparently has to know every single person in the science department.

“Yes, _Noora_ ,” she bites at him. “Friends with Eva and Vilde? Don’t you know her?”

Isak knows _a_ Noora – the possibility along with the probability of it being the _same_ Noora should be quite slim to none. He _does_ remember that Eva has a friend called Noora, but he can’t recall her for the life of him.

“No.”

“Well, Noora is our friend, moving on,” Sana slams her book shut when it’s clear she can’t keep on the pretense of it being more important than what she’s trying to talk about. “You need to –“

“Hold on,” Isak interrupts, holding up a finger to silence her before she gets too far ahead. “Are you asking me for a favor?”

And Sana has just taken _another_ bite of a lemon.

“Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me for a favor.”

“I’m not asking you for a _favor_ ,” she makes a face at the word like it has personally offended her. “I’m merely proposing working on a common interest.”

“In which I will be doing all the work and have absolutely no idea about what interest I have in it?” Isak clarifies.

“ _Common_ interest,” Sana repeats, leaning back in her chair. Her eyeliner is heavier today than it had been the last time Isak had seen her, and if she’s wearing it for the intimidation factor Isak has got to give it to her that it’s working. “ _We_ need you to get Magnus’ head out of his own ass.”

Isak lets out a mix of a surprised whine and an indignant squawk of outrage for someone who has probably only met Magnus a handful of times to talk like that about him.

Sana, being Sana, just fixes a glare at him. “Him _and_ Vilde.”

“What’s wrong with Magnus and Vilde?”

“The fact that they since the start of the second semester have been trying to get together only to cockblock themselves every single time?”

Isak pauses. “ _How_?”

To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed Magnus had been trying to hook up with Vilde. With every single party the boys dragged him to, it always seemed like it was a new girl for all of them except Jonas, who’d dutifully spend the night looking after Eva unless they were smoking.

“All they ever talk about is cats!”

“Cats,” Isak repeats, deadpan.

“Yes,” Sana snaps. “Cats.”

“Are you sure they’re not talking about –“

“ _Cats_.”

“Alright!” Isak holds up the palms of his hands and leans back in his chair to get some space between them. “Again, _why_?”

“If I knew, do you really think I would be asking for you to interfere?”

Isak came here to study, _not_ be berated about his friend’s life decisions. “You don’t think it could just be a… bonding thing?”

By the look of it, Sana does not particularly look like she thinks it could be a quote unquote, ‘bonding thing’.

“Like, a, ‘ _hey, do you prefer dogs or cats_ ’, kind of thing?” Isak winces when Sana raises one eyebrow at him. There are _weirder_ conversation-starters and icebreakers – Isak would know. So far he’s never met anyone else whose first conversation involved ISO-settings and a B&E. Without actually breaking anything. An E.

“They’re _meowing_ at each other.”

“Jesus,” only Magnus. Or, apparently, only Magnus _and Vilde_. Isak rolls his eyes and shakes his head to stop looking at Sana. This really wasn’t what he’d been prepared for when he sat down.

It’s difficult trying to wrap his head around any of this. He’s exhausted to the bone, he’s spent the entire day trying to pay attention and stay busy. Having to suddenly think about woes of love hits a bit too close for Isak not to lose his breath.

 _Different situation, different people_ , he tries to keep in mind when he turns back to Sana.

“I don’t know what exactly you expect _me_ to do,” he tells her. “I don’t even know when they’ll be in the same room, let alone talking to each other!”

Sana frowns quizzically at him. “Do you not know about –“

A sudden flurry of movement to Isak’s right startles them both out of their bubble. They both snap their necks to the side so quickly Isak feels a crick already forming from the mild whiplash.

“Hey!” Emma grins. Oh no.

Oh _no_. Isak’s day is going badly enough already, he does not need _this_.

‘ _This_ ’ referring to the first year eagerly waiting for a slice of Isak’s attention to be on her like it’s all that’ll ever matter. She’s practically vibrating where she’s standing next to him, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about life and Isak doesn’t know how to connect with her, besides the obvious reason.

Emma’s a sweet girl, really. With her journalism major and outgoing personality, she isn’t exactly lacking friends or popularity. She just, apparently, hasn’t gotten the memo that Isak doesn’t stick around, isn’t there for anything serious, and also isn’t there for something _not_ serious.

So now he’s got a lot of unanswered DMs he can’t even bring himself to leave on ‘read’.

Isak is just _staring_ at her. It actually feels like his mouth has been sewn shut. Isak is usually the one who approaches girls; he doesn’t _get_ approached outside of a party, and now that he has it feels a bit like he’s been thrown into the deep end.

What is he supposed to _say_?

He only startles out of it when the hardcover of Sana’s book smacks against the tabletop with unneeded force.

“Hey,” Isak tries to smile back. He has a feeling it looks more like a grimace, especially from the way Sana is looking increasingly amused, but Emma doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to it, thankfully.

“You kind of disappeared last time I saw you,” Emma toes an inch closer and Isak has to resist the urge to scoot backwards to maintain the distance between them. She shrugs. “’S a shame.”

Isak doesn’t recall having been anywhere near her, doesn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her.

While he doesn’t know a lot about girls, he does know you do _not_ tell them something like that.

“Yeah,” Isak stutters out instead, shrugging in lieu of an apology. Maybe he can pull off the _you know how it is_ half-assery. “Hopefully you weren’t too disappointed.”

It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, flirting with anyone, even if he only ever flirts with girls. Maybe that part also contributes to the sour taste that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

Emma giggles, all prettily and Isak thinks he should like her; she’s pretty with the short, brown hair and big, brown eyes. Isak has to bite himself in his cheek when his thoughts try to stray towards blond coifs and blue eyes.

“Maybe you could make it up to me?” She casually puts her hand on the table, only a couple of inches away from where Isak is resting his arm. It would be too obvious to pull away, even if that is all Isak wants to do.

Jesus, that sounds like a _line_. Isak pointedly ignores the snort Sana attempts to mask as she slides further and further down behind her book and laptop that are propped open in front of her.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak fumbles. He should keep on looking at her, any guy would keep on looking at her. Isak looks around the room to find inspiration for any apology or let down he can give her without it coming back to bite him in the ass. “How would I –“

Emma was clearly just waiting for that opening, even if Isak doesn’t get to finish it. “I heard you’re having a shindig?”

A _what_?

“I’m having a _what_?”

Sana snorts again from the other side of the table, but Isak is magnanimous enough to fully ignore her. He repeats to himself that he shouldn’t divert his attention away from Emma, because none of the other boys would’ve done that.

“A shindig,” Emma laughs, reaches her hand out to lay it on his arm and squeezes once. Isak’s arm burns uncomfortably when she pulls her hand away again. “Or your housemates are. It sounded like it was for all of you.”

A _what_?

“So?” Emma smiles, bats her eyelashes once. “Am I going to have to beg for an invite?”

She takes another step closer. By now she’s close enough that Isak can smell her perfume, it clogs together in his throat, but he barely pays attention to it from how fast his thoughts are racing through his head.

A _what_?

Emma falters when she see Isak floundering. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” it comes out too weak, so Isak clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m – I’m great, yeah. Uh, I don’t – I don’t actually know anything about any kind of ‘ _shindig_ ’.”

It sounds like a lie. It _feels_ like a lie, and it isn’t even one. For once Isak doesn’t have to lie to get out of something, yet it’s also the one time no one seems to believe him. Emma most certainly doesn’t look impressed, and Sana, who isn’t even a part of this conversation, doesn’t really seem to fully believe him either.

“Right,” Emma says. It sounds too clipped and she takes a couple of steps back, putting some distance in-between them. Shit.

Isak tries to grin. “It must be a pretty exclusive party if _I_ can’t even get an invite.” And that also sounds like an excuse.

“Right,” Emma repeats, but it comes out too stiff and a bit clipped. Her arms are folded across her chest and Isak wants to stuff his face into his hands and _groan_ from having to deal with this on top of everything.

He doesn’t.

“What did – where did you hear about it?” he asks instead.

Emma’s looking everywhere _but_ at him. “I just heard it around. Supposed to be the place to be tonight.”

Isak gulps. Shit, that does _not_ sound good. Both in the sense that if this is true, his home will be flooded with drunk students and he’d rather not deal with the aftermath, but also that, if this is true, Isak hasn’t been told about it.

Isak… doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to feel about that.

“Oh.”

Emma looks uncomfortable, looking down at her shoes she keeps scuffing the toes of around. Isak doesn’t doubt he looks uncomfortable as well.

Whatever Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are planning aside, Isak can’t spend the night also having to worry about Emma. The way he constantly has to be thinking, _is this the right way to behave around her, am I actually pulling it off, does it seem like she likes me_ , and most importantly, when can he _leave_.

But he also can’t afford to just turn down a girl without an obvious reason, and right now everyone seems to be on the Emma-boat and Isak is left to drown.

“Why don’t you keep your phone open, then?” Isak tries to grin, but he feels a bit too shaky. It almost feels like he’s coming down with something; cold shivers running through his body and he feels clammy, but he knows he isn’t getting sick.

Emma’s phone starts to buzz in her pocket. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she switches between looking at Isak and fishing the phone out of her coat and check who is calling.

“I’ll text you if I find out about something?”

He sounds too hesitant and Emma doesn’t look convinced either, so Isak pinches a small bit of skin by his wrist in-between two fingertips to pull himself together. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the rest of him does.

“After all, is it really a party if you aren’t there?”

She looks a bit more placated at that, even as most of her attention is on the phone. “Text me later, then. Or next week – we’ll do something. _Hello -_ ”

Isak doesn’t get the chance to reply before she’s bounded out of there again, leaving him staring into the air of her vacated space.

A snort sounds from across the table.

“ _What_?” Isak snaps, rolling his shoulders back to try and relieve some tension. “Shit.”

“I’m sure she would’ve taken it much nicer if you’d just let her down easy instead of talk your way around it,” Sana leafs lazily through her book despite that they both know she isn’t looking for anything.

Isak scoffs. “Can’t exactly let her down easy when I don’t even know what she’s talking about, can I?”

Sana stops mid-motion, the page falling down onto its place without her assistance. She blinks once, twice, then looks up at him. “Huh?”

“’ _Shindig_ ’?” Isak quotes, knocking his arms out. “What the hell is this?”

Sana doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking at him either. It’s unnerving as all hell and Isak would just like to get some _answers_ , thank you very much.

He doesn’t get any. Sana just shakes her head, closes the book and turns her attention onto the computer. “Take that up with the troublesome trio you live with. Let’s get started!”

OOOOO

Isak hears cupboards banging in the kitchen and he follows the noise until he can see Jonas bent over in front of their chips-and-other-miscellaneous-unhealthy-crap cupboard, riffling through the contents as a note and a pen lie on the counter in front of him.

It used to be so easy. Isak could walk up to Jonas and just say, ‘ _Hey_ ’ or ask about coursework or football or how Eva is, how are the both of you, all of it seemed so easy.

Now he’s staring at Jonas, mouth snapped shut and no matter how much he begs his body to, it won’t open. He’s screaming the questions in his mind, but no sounds gets out and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, this panicky anxiety that’s filling his body. Just the _thought_ of actually saying something is making him twitchy.

“Hey!” Jonas smiles when he sees him standing there. “Did you borrow my scarf?”

“Are we having a shindig?” tumbles out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch up that he should probably answer Jonas’ question first.

Jonas frowns at the change of topic, but diligently answers him. “Yeah? Didn’t Magnus tell you?” and then realizes what he’s just said.

Jonas squeezes his eyes shut so tightly his nose and cheeks wrinkle from the force of it. “Shit, sorry, man, should’ve just told you myself. It’s been planned for a couple of weeks by now.”

 _A couple of weeks_ , holy shit. Isak stuffs his hand into the pocket in his jacket to hide how much he’s shaking. A couple of weeks puts it right before _the night_ , and if Magnus didn’t have a tendency to get distracted already, he definitely would’ve had enough reason to when he ran into his idol.

“Right,” Isak stammers out when Jonas doesn’t seem inclined to give him any more information.

“It’s just a small thing!” Jonas hurries to placate, but that only makes Isak feel worse.

A few weeks ago there wouldn’t have been a need for him to be _placated_ about his friends holding a party. Yeah, he’d be grouchy he wasn’t told, panicky about who’d been invited, but nothing like what he’s feeling now.

“Swear,” Jonas doesn’t pause so he probably hasn’t even noticed Isak’s internal struggle. “Eva and her friends are the only ones who are definitely coming. Although, Eva mentioned that Noora might be bringing someone.”

Eva and her friends, so Sana is coming. If anything, he can just hang up against her all evening with the excuse of getting to know his study-buddy. Something that is _so_ like him and not likely at all to raise questioning eyebrows. Shit.

Jonas scratches the back of his head. “Mahdi’s invited a couple of people from the football team, and I think Magnus has invited some from his media classes. But none of them RSVP’ed, so…”

Jonas shrugs like _that’s that_ , like that means it’ll still just be a small gathering of Eva and her girl power group, when Isak knows that they’re not exactly the generation to ‘RSVP’ and that he himself more than once has crashed an invites-only party, it’s bound to come and bite him in the ass at some point.

Also the fact that people are apparently talking about it like it’s the party of the year doesn’t exactly bode well either.

“Do you want to hit some people up, ask if they can come?” Jonas sounds hesitant. Isak feels so out of place in the doorway to his own goddamn kitchen. He isn’t supposed to be feeling like this. “It’s a bit last minute, but maybe someone is free?”

Isak can’t tell if he’s angling for Isak to invite some girls over, maybe even Emma, but Isak feels sick and uneasy enough already, he doesn’t need the added worry if he looks straight enough.

He shakes his head. “’s all good.” He doesn’t mention there’s no one for him to invite – no one he’d want to come. “Hey,” he clears his throat and points down the hall in the direction of his room. “I’ll go finish some, uh, stuff. Just get me if you need help with anything, yeah?”

Is that an appropriate thing to ask? Should he just barge in and ask directly if there’s anything they need him to do? It’s not that he minds Eva or Sana and he hasn’t really met the three left, but it doesn’t change the fact that this ‘shindig’ that supposedly was for all of them is feeling a lot like it’s only for _some_ of them and Isak is only invited because he lives here.

Jonas nods, something guarded in his eyes that makes it difficult for Isak to swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, man, definitely.”

Isak nods, and then once again when he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. In the end, he just slowly starts to shuffle towards his room, leaving Jonas behind in the kitchen.

OOOOO

“Oi!” Magnus pounds his fist against Isak’s door so harshly it slams up against the wall. “Isak, my bro, my _best_ bro, have I told you recently –“

“I’m _not_ helping you get laid,” Isak groans before rolling onto his stomach, any following dismayed noises muffled when he shoves his head into his pillows.

“ _Please_!” Magnus whines, throwing himself on top of Isak with zero regards to his spine. “I’ll help you!”

Isak snorts, or he would’ve, had he any _air_ to do so.

“Get off of me,” he groans and tries to turn onto his back, but Magnus is stubbornly persistent in not moving until Isak agrees.

“You _always_ know what to say and what to do,” Magnus whines, rolling onto his back until he’s awkwardly planked horizontally across Isak, his back forced into a unnatural arch. “Teach me your ways, I beg of you!”

“Your only bargaining tool was _you_ would help _me_ get laid, yet I’m the only one who knows how to do it?” Isak asks, except his face is smooshed into his pillows and Magnus is honest to god quite heavy, so it comes out a muffled garble of _mour mon marg moo mou mel maid mam meon mow moo-hmm_.

Magnus stills on top of him.

“Alright, I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Isak folds his arms up underneath his torso and pushes up until Magnus has to roll with it or be pushed onto the floor. Magnus yelps, his arms flailing as he nearly topples over, before he clings onto Isak’s hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Isn’t this a problem for the crisis window?” Isak grumbles, referring to the nook in the kitchen, the window that’s just long enough that all four of them can sit side by side on the sill that had unintentionally turned into their version of a psychiatrist’s couch – too little room on the couch, and it feels like an invasion of privacy in their rooms. Or just a place to smoke if that’s what they’re in the mood for.

Magnus frowns. “Would you actually move into the kitchen for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then it’s a problem for Isak’s bed!” Magnus moves around a worrying amount.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Isak flops onto his back before Magnus can climb back on top of him, “considering I didn’t even know we were having a party _two hours ago_.”

Magnus winces apologetically and looks at Isak with those big, sad eyes he knows no one can resist. Manipulative bastard.

“I didn’t _mean_ to forget!” Magnus insist, snuffling closer to Isak in a way that’s probably meant to look like a puppy begging for forgiveness, but just makes it look like he’s stuck. “And I _did_ say I’m sorry.”

Isak sighs and rolls his eyes, but he lets it go. There’s so much else going on in his head, he can’t deal with having to be angry about a missing invite to a party. “Alright, then,” and asks. “Who’d you invite to the party?”

A long list of names bubbles out of Magnus’ mouth, none of which ring a bell, which could both be a blessing and a curse, but then Magnus starts categorizing them after which class they share, which tutorial group, friends before going to university, the lady in the grocery store who, admittedly, had looked a little too old to be interested in a uni party, but Magnus is still holding out hope she’ll actually show up.

Despite rejecting his offer immediately after Magnus had told her about it.

“So what you’re telling me,” Isak interrupts once it becomes clear Magnus is about to go off topic about what he wants to suggest they watch in film club, “is that you want my help with hooking up –“

Magnus nods wildly.

“– when you haven’t invited any girls?”

Magnus stops nodding.

Isak shakes his head. “There’re only so many miracles I can perform in one night, and your requests are starting to increase in size.”

Magnus snorts. “Like the size is what’s stopping you from fulfilling my hopes and dreams.”

Oh, that one’s just too obvious. “Maybe it’s only _one_ miracle we need if the only thing we need is to change the size of your –“

“ _Hey_!”

Isak is grown up enough to admit the punch to his shoulder was probably well-deserved.

“Asshole,” Magnus grumbles, rolling onto his stomach when he flops around uselessly. Isak honestly can’t tell what he’s trying to do.

Isak should feel worse about kicking Magnus when he’s already down, but there’s a few hours left until the shindig ahem-party-ahem is supposed to start, and Isak had hoped he could spend at least some of them _asleep_.

So he should probably try to actually _help_ Magnus, then. Jesus, Isak doesn’t have the emotional capacity for this.

“Alright, ignore who is and isn’t coming,” Isak tells him. “You see a girl you like – what do you want?”

He does feel a bit bad when Magnus looks up at him with these big eyes, like he hadn’t thought Isak would _actually_ help him.

Yet he’d still turned to him _for_ help. These damn creative-minded artsy kids – Isak honestly has no idea how their minds work.

“I –“ Magnus hesitates, biting his lip. “I want to say something funny so she’ll laugh.”

Isak nods, that’s a good start. Seem approachable, relatable, try to be funny. Smiles are good when humans want to connect with each other.

“And then, later on, I’d like to press her up against the wall and –“

Isak groans like he’s _dying_ , because he honestly might be. Magnus isn’t even deterred when Isak gets the pillow under his head out and smothers his face in it.

This was _not_ what he’d signed up for.

Although, he probably should’ve been expecting it – Magnus has never been particularly quiet about what he likes, including what he likes in bed, which is what Isak is currently being painted a lovely picture of.

A lot of leather is involved – a bit surprisingly – a lot of sex in various positions, most seem unbelievably unrealistic – not surprisingly at all – and how good it’ll be.

Something that _is_ surprising is when Magnus doesn’t stop at the end of the night.

“I can’t cook pancakes,” Magnus reminds Isak. “So either one of _you_ guys could do me a favor, or – oh! Maybe she likes cereal! Most people do after all – I could get her my special mix, you know the one where I mix –“

“You want her to stay for breakfast?” Isak interrupts, frowning.

“Yeah?” Magnus looks honestly perplexed. “We’ve just had the most incredible night together, why would I want her to leave?”

“Erh, well, you see –“

“I can’t expect her to stay and not feed her.”

“That wasn’t really the point I was trying to make –“

“Oh! And then, after breakfast, we could go into the city – no, wait! I could take her to breakfast at a café!”

“That _definitely_ isn’t really hook up protocol –“

“Yeah, that’s probably a _way_ better idea. I don’t want to scare her off with my bad cooking!” Magnus is laughing and Isak is grimacing.

“No, yeah, but –“

“And then after we’ve eaten, we could come back here and have sex again. You know I saw this thing in a porno once, where the girl ended up stuffing –“

 _Gross, gross, gross_! Where is the bleach, Isak _needs_ it. _Desperately_. Goodbye hearing, goodbye brain, there is literally no need for either if he has to spend the rest of his life remembering just exactly what, where, and how much that poor girl had _stuffed_.

“And in the evening I could take her somewhere nice. There are all sorts of romantic places in the centre of Oslo, right?”

“There are, but –“

“So we could go there and be all cutesy-and-shit,” a description every girl wants their relationship to have, “and then we go swing ‘round her place to get her some clothes. Or! We could just come back here again, and the next day she’d just have to wear something of mine. That’s hot, right?”

“Objectively, it is, but –“

“And I could fall asleep all folded up around her, and make sure she’s warm enough and comfortable. She could fall asleep on my chest – wait, no! We’re spooning – and I’m the big spoon,” he points at Isak like he dares him to disagree with that.

It honestly isn’t the bit Isak has the biggest issue with.

“And the next day we could get ready for the week together. We could do homework together and she could tell me all about her degree and her modules and her essays, and she’d listen to me rambling on about –“ Magnus pauses for a second, like he just remembered it’s _Isak’s_ room he’s in. It doesn’t leave much doubt what he was about to say, but Isak is frozen in his seat so he doesn’t comment on it when Magnus clears his throat and continues like nothing had happened. “ – and my education, and my work.”

Magnus gasps dramatically with a sudden epiphany, any lingering awkwardness at the near slipup clearly forgotten. “I could show her Even’s movies! Do you think she’ll like them? Oh, I really hope so, because we’re watching all of them. And she could show me her favorite movies – we could do several film nights!”

Isak’s mouth feels too dry. He’s pretty sure his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth permanently now.

“And I would find little pieces of hers all over in my room, like, some clothes lying on the floor, or a hair tie, or a book for class. And I could clear out a drawer for her things, and she could slowly take over everything in my room so I have the drawer I’d originally cleared out for her –“

Isak stills as what Magnus has described registers. His heart beats a little too fast and he feels cold all of the sudden, even as he can feel that his skin is actually rather warm.

It’s all said so matter-of-factly, like Magnus has never experienced the rush of emotions, the giddiness and the excitement and the happiness and the nerves and everything related to falling in love, because that’s what Magnus is describing. _Love_.

Isak doesn’t have a lot of expertise in the hooking up culture; he’d been so young when he’d met Even, just at the age where his classmates were only starting to gain interest in parties and kissing, so he’d never learnt what it meant, what you had to do and why it was supposedly so fun to participate in.

But what he’d lacked in that area, he’d learnt a lot more in another. And what Magnus is talking about? Isak already knows enough to know that isn’t what you do with a hookup, that’s what you do with a person you’re in a relationship with.

It’s suddenly very difficult for Isak to draw in another breath.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” Magnus finishes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Really wish I had invited some girls to hook up tonight now –“

“Magnus,” Isak interrupts, a bit clipped. “That’s not what you do when you hook up.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you do in a _relationship_.”

Isak is so terribly thrown off kilter. He’d expected to bluff his way through guiding Magnus into getting a hook up, but now he has to fake not knowing about what Magnus is talking about, because Isak has _done_ all of that and no one knows. He doesn’t want to share it either, but it’s like something is being ripped from his past that he’d tried so hard to bury, and it’s both painful and makes him feel numb at the same time.

Magnus glares at him, but there’s no fire behind it. “What do you know about relationships?”

Isak feels freezing and boiling hot at the same time. It’s like it takes everything in him to put on a strained smile – luckily, Magnus isn’t looking too closely.

“You basically just described Jonas and Eva, you know that, right? You’re not interested in finding someone to hook up with. You want to find your Eva.”

Magnus hums, rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “Suppose,” and then out of the blue asks, “Is that what you want, too?”

Isak’s skin feels too tight and the laughter that bubbles out of him is too high-pitched, too wrong. “Why do you think _that_?”

Magnus shrugs. The fabric of his t-shirt snags against the fabric of the duvet, making it look like a weird, awkward shuffle instead. “Like, is Emma your Eva?”

“ _What_?”

“I don’t know, man!” Magnus knocks his arms out. “I just – don’t you think it could be nice? If that isn’t what you get to do with a hook up, then what’s the great thing about it?”

Isak can’t answer, because he doesn’t know the answer. He _hates_ that he doesn’t know the answer, he should’ve figured it out ages ago, yet here he is.

“The freedom,” Isak tells him stiffly, but he tries to make it come out light and excited, like he should be feeling. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want.”

A knot forms in Magnus’ brows. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

It’s hard to swallow.

“Nah,” Isak leans back so he can look up at his ceiling. The familiarity of it is comforting; the same cracks and patterns as all the other times he’s looked up at it. “Think the other way around gets too crowded.”

Shit, Isak needs to get the conversation moving to somewhere else. He’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret if he doesn’t.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight, though.”

Magnus snorts. “Yeah, going to meet lots of girls to a party where none of us has invited any.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Eva’s coming,” which, maybe don’t bring up a girl who already _has_ a boyfriend – a boyfriend you’re currently sharing a flat with at that, “didn’t Jonas say she was bringing her friends along?”

Magnus lets out a disheartened sigh. “Going by my track record, I don’t think any of Eva’s friends are going to be in my league.”

Alright, that’s any melodrama Isak can handle for the day, he needs to figure something out. If Magnus doesn’t think he has a chance with any of Eva’s friends, then he’s just going to have to –

Eva’s friends.

Sana is one of Eva’s friends. Sana has already mentioned another one of Eva’s friends.

He has an honest-to-god light bulb moment. He might as well pull up a _ding_ to go along with it – Isak is sure there’s an app for it. There’s an app for everything, nowadays.

“What about the one you’ve spoken to before, then?” Isak tries to ask casually. “What was her name – Mille? Hilde?”

“Vilde?”

“That’s the one!” Isak snaps his fingers, like that’ll make this conversation go faster.

After this, Sana can never claim he’s never done anything for her. This favor extends very, _very_ far.

Except Magnus doesn’t start blabbering on about Vilde. He remains quiet, twiddling his thumbs in circles and carefully avoids looking over at Isak.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t think she really likes me.”

Jesus Christ, Isak is getting a scientific degree _for a reason_ – he doesn’t know how to do this, never learnt how to be confident enough in himself to spread it to his friends.

“Course she likes you. Why wouldn’t she?”

Magnus shrugs again, but he doesn’t add anything to it. So it’s actually serious, then, if Magnus doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just –“ Magnus sighs. “Nothing seems _natural_. I always seem to say the wrong thing and – I don’t know. Shouldn’t it feel _easier_ , somehow?”

Isak doesn’t feel like he’s in his room, on his bed, talking to Magnus. He can vaguely see his desk and his books, but it feels like it might be in a dream and he’s only seeing what his brain is creating for him to see.

“Falling in love should be easy – that’s what all the movies make it seem like. The pain usually comes after, once something has gone wrong, not during.”

Panic is sizzling away underneath his skin and Isak both simultaneously wants to get up and run away and stay here and get under the covers to hide away from the world.

“Shouldn’t it feel like a whirlwind from the start? Completely crazy and all-empowering and all you can think about?”

He’s tired. He’s tired of trying and constantly failing, because this was supposed to be _his_ year, yet all he’s done is manage to fuck everything up. He was supposed to make it work with the guys, both by being a better friend, but also figuring out how to be a good flatmate, but so far he’s managed to scare them so badly they’re constantly walking on eggshells around him and Isak doesn’t know how to feel at home in his own _apartment_ in fear that they’ll say one thing, _one thing_ , and they’ll figure it out.

“Like you’d do anything to be with them, to be near them. You’d do anything to make them smile and you want the best for them. I think that’s what I really want the most out of anything.”

It’s stupid to think it, but the thought still somehow sneaks in, because what if that is the reason Magnus is talking about this? So many things just hitting a little too close to home, how easy it was to fall in love with someone, how overly encompassing it was, all the emotions and how it seemed worth it that it might bring pain, because it had also brought _love_. Isak has spent so long trying to forget all of that.

It’s what makes him finally snap, because he needs for Magnus to _shut up_. “If what you want is a relationship, maybe go talk to the Casanova, instead.”

“But Isak,” Magnus replies in a sing-song voice. “ _You’re_ the Casanova. Jonas would be, I don’t know – Romeo or something.”

It makes the anger swirling in his stomach boil over until it spews out everywhere. There are so many things Isak has spent _ages_ avoiding getting near or getting into conversations about, and now he feels like tearing out his own hair and _screaming_ and crying and he wants to _hurt_ someone, anyone. One person.

“Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

He sounds furious, voice dripping with venom and it’s surprising Magnus doesn’t pick up on it.

“So Emma isn’t going to be your Juliet, then?” Magnus nudges him playfully, but too many of Isak’s red flags have been prodded at and he _can’t_ take it anymore.

“Absolutely not.” It comes out too harshly. “And I really can’t help you if what you want is some fairytale meet-cute, go talk to Jonas.”

“But isn’t that what everyone wants? Isn’t that the point of going out and meeting people, to see if you find someone worth sticking around and hurting for?”

Isak laughs. It sounds mean. “It really isn’t what everyone wants.”

Magnus is looking a bit confounded, what with the way he’s frowning at Isak with furrowed eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating something. “What about you, then?”

There might be a bit too much contempt in Isak’s voice when he tells him, “I have no interest in Romeo and Juliet whatsoever.”

OOOOO

The bass is pumping from the speakers and Isak can barely hear his own thoughts from where they’re being drowned out by the music. There are people all around him, talking, screaming, dancing, making out, taking shots. This is what uni is supposed to be about and Isak can figure out how to fit in, even if he isn’t going to be drinking excessively throughout the night.

It all feels a bit foreign, and it shouldn’t, because this is what Isak’s entire first semester of university had been about; booze and blunts and the _noise_ , because that had seemed to be the only things that made his head quiet and body numb. Maybe it’s just the lack of alcohol swimming around in his body that makes Isak feel like a fish out of water.

At least it’s much less of a _party-of-the-year_ and more in the likes of a pregame. Isak has already heard several people talking about finding a club somewhere after, so he just has to hold on a few more hours.

A few people shout his name as he makes his way past them. They’re all grinning and raises they various drinks, cans and bottles at him in greeting, probably inviting him to come join them.

Isak nods a greeting, but doesn’t make his way closer. He doesn’t recognize any of them, figures they’re probably some of the blurry person-shaped edges he has in his memories of those nights back during first semester.

“Hey, man,” Jonas comes up to him from behind. He’s looking at Isak like he has to be careful of something, and it isn’t helping with whatever dangerous cocktail of emotions currently swishing around in Isak’s body.

Isak raises an eyebrow and tries to tease, “Bit of a ‘shindig’, huh?”

Jonas winces and looks at him apologetically. “Yeah, things may have gotten a bit out of hand.” And as much as Isak hates that the boys didn’t tell him, he hates _this_ more – this, this guarded carefulness they all have whenever they’re speaking to him. It’s driving him _insane_ and makes him want to _scream_ , but that would only serve to make them worse.

So he tries to laugh and ignores the tightness in stomach. “There’s no problem. This is fun, right?”

Jonas doesn’t look convinced, but Isak doesn’t know how to convince him anymore.

Usually, he would’ve flung his arm around Jonas’ shoulders and shouted too loudly in his ear, ‘ _let’s go do some shots!_ ’ and that would’ve been it, but he doesn’t do that anymore – drink heavily, or the other bit, actually, come to mind, because Jonas constantly looks _guarded_ around Isak, and Isak can’t tell if that means he wants him close or he doesn’t want him close.

He doesn’t have to worry about it for long, because the front door bangs open when Eva lets herself in.

Jonas lights up like he always does when he sees her, and she sashays her way over to him to kiss him hello. And then some. Isak ignores the pang in his heart at the sight and looks over to the side of them to look at the rest of the gang.

Sana rolls her eyes when he nods at her, so of course he has to roll his eyes back. It’s basically their thing by now, as much as they both seem to hate it.

“Halla,” she greets. “Found out about the ‘shindig’, then?”

Isak feels short of breath, but it’s still easy to put the mask on, grin and pretend like everything’s okay. “Little less than two hours ago, actually,” and tries not to sound self-deprecating or like there’s something wrong.

He doesn’t pull it off. Sana’s frowning – when isn’t she, but all her attention is on Isak, which it usually isn’t, because _that_ isn’t normal.

And he _can’t_ have her say anything, he doesn’t know what he would reply, what would be appropriate and what wouldn’t, what could be worked as a joke and what would just give him away. “Worked wonders for not having to set anything up, though.”

She snorts and takes a step back, going further into the apartment. “Knew you were a slacker the moment I met you.”

“Hey!” Isak protests, whines a bit, but Sana doesn’t wait around to hear whatever defense he could manage to pull up, disappearing into the kitchen with the girl who never stops giving Isak bedroom eyes – Chris, he thinks.

An arm slings around Isak’s shoulder, the smell of beer more pungent than the smell of weed – Magnus, then.

“What the fuck?” Magnus points over at Jonas and Eva who are locked at the lips and oblivious to the world around them. “Is this allowed?”

“ _Stop_ ,” Jonas breaks away long enough to groan, but Eva’s quick to cup his jaw and draw him back in.

Vilde’s standing next to them by now, and it looks like she’s only giggling politely with little clue to the context of Magnus’ comment, but Magnus’ is grinning back like he’s just won the lottery.

Usually, Isak would at least try and be a good mate and play up whatever had just been said, make it funnier than it actually was without drawing the attention onto himself, but his head had barely been in the game when the party had started, it definitely isn’t when the supposed Noora and her plus one enter their flat.

Because Isak _knows_ that plus one.

“ _Now the party can sta-ha-ha-art_!”

Isak knows that voice.

Isak _knows_ that _voice_.

Eskild is dressed as loudly as his voice – neon pink and, oh god, are those _feathers_? – and crazy sunglasses that most likely don’t work if Eskild can stand wearing them inside.

“Ho-ly mother of God,” Magnus breathes out, eyes wide as he stares at Eskild. “Who on _earth_ is –“

“ _Isak_!”

Isak doesn’t even have time to wince from his name being bellowed straight into his ear before he has an armful of Eskild clinging onto him and shaking him around as he hugs him – or squeezes the life out of him.

“What are you doing here?” Isak’s voice is muffled from where his mouth is pressed against Eskild’s shoulder. At least Eskild’s close enough to be able to make it out anyway.

“Noora brought me!” Eskild steps back, but doesn’t let go of the arm he has slung around Isak’s shoulders. He points over to the blonde girl standing next to Sana.

“But – but –“ seriously, Isak’s mind is _melted_. “But that’s Eva’s Noora.”

Things do not compute.

“Are you telling me,” Isak continues, magnanimously ignoring Eskild’s snort, “that Eva’s Noora is also _your_ Noora?”

“Technically, my Noora is _also_ _Eva’s_ Noora, because I had her first,” Eskild insists indignantly, pointing accusingly over at Eva who only rolls her eyes fondly, skips on close to fold her arms around Eskild’s side. “She’s just lucky she’s cool enough for me to hang out around her as well.”

“Yes, of course, darling, _that’s_ why,” Eva laughs and then bounds on into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“But –“ Isak’s worlds are collapsing. He – but – _what_?

Eskild barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, that _face_ is excuse enough for ghosting me the past couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t _ghosted_ you,” Isak tries to protest, but Eskild doesn’t let him. It’d be a lie, anyway, kind of. He just – Eskild will _know_ , because that’s what Eskild _does_ , and Isak _can’t_ – he _can’t_ have people he cares about worrying about him again, can’t let them know that their faith in him is wasted. He can’t lose everything else too.

He finally catches sight of Magnus and Jonas out of the corner of his eye, both of them looking frantically between Isak, Eskild, and then finally over to Eva and Noora for _some_ type of explanation.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak wracks his brain for the words that seem to be evading him. “ _Gutter_ , this is Eskild – Eskild, this is –“

Eskild holds up his hand in front of Isak’s face, startling him badly enough that he stops talking. Isak blinks confusedly.

Eskild narrows his eyes as he stares at Jonas and Magnus. Jonas and Magnus’ eyes, in turn, widen at the scrutinizing glare they’re currently on the receiving end of. Isak has been in their place before, when he’d sneak out to see Even and come back in the early morning to Eskild hiding his worry behind reprimanding scolding and demands that he leave his GPS on next time he wants to go out ‘partying’.

Isak doubts Eskild ever thought he was out partying, mostly because he never came back hung over or drunk still, and he didn’t reek of booze, no more than the beer or weed Even would share with him on rare occasions. But it’s not like Isak could tell him what he was _actually_ doing, and it’s also not like it was outside the realm of possibility considering how Isak and Eskild first met.

“Don’t tell me,” Eskild removes his hand from Isak’s face to point between Jonas and Magnus. “Are _they_ the ones you _left_ me for?”

Isak blinks, again. Magnus still can’t get his eyes off of Eskild, but Jonas is looking decisively more worried in Isak’s direction.

Isak sighs when Eskild keeps pointing. “I didn’t _leave you_ –“

“ _Aha_!”

Magnus jumps a foot into the air and nearly trips of the doorstep leading into the living room. He bumps into one of Mahdi’s jock friends instead, who in turn spills beer all over the floor. _Great_.

“So they _are_ the ones you left me for!” Eskild finishes, not the slightest bit perturbed over the chain of events he’d just put in motion.

“What are you even, they – _no_ ,” Isak flaps his hands about, resorting to poking Eskild’s shoulder when he looks less and less inclined to believe him. “This is Jonas and Magnus, whom I’ve only been living with along with Mahdi for less than a _month_ , and you _know_ this, because I _told you_ this back in July.”

Eskild mulls it over, still glaring at Jonas and Magnus, apparently to Noora and Eva’s _amusement_ , but whatever he finds can’t be _too_ bad when he immediately switches over to a blinding smile and introduces himself to them properly.

Isak hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, nearly still doesn’t until it all comes rushing out of him and he suddenly feels a little weak in the knees.

“How d’you know Isak, then?” Jonas asks, sounding more polite than terrified, which is more than what Magnus is managing to do.

Eskild opens his mouth, ready to launch into the tale of woe of how the two of them had met, and Eskild playing the part of the hero and taking in the lost duckling wandering the streets, drunk and completely out of his mind.

It’s not like it’s something Isak is _ashamed_ about, and he _knows_ Eskild would never tell anyone about the part where he’d apparently _begged_ him not to make him go home, but Isak –

Isak’s entire life is built on lies upon lies – lie about your mom not feeling well, she’s fine, she’s just stressed, don’t tell anyone you’re gay, don’t tell anyone about Even, and on, and on, and on, and somewhere along the way, Isak has sort of forgotten how to share any parts of himself that aren’t just on the surface.

So he cuts in right as Eskild gets out how it was a cold, dark night – which isn’t true, because it was spring, so it was _at most chilly_ – and says, “I used to live with him in a Kollektiv, back before uni.”

Magnus’ eyes widen impossibly further. “Shit, you’d already moved out in _high school_?”

Isak shrugs, ignores the feeling of Eskild’s eyes on him, considering how he was technically barely _in_ high school by the time he moved in, and ignores how incredulous the looks he’s given from the people who _don’t_ know the story make his stomach feels like it’s turned to lead, or maybe the opposite, like it’s so light he might be sick.

Eskild saves him. Eskild _always_ saves him, and it doesn’t make his stomach feel any _less_ like it’s filled with lead when Isak thinks of how he _has_ been blowing him off and ghosting him.

“And then he _left me_. _Depraving me_ of my _son_ –“

“Fuck off –“

“My _only_ son –“

“And I didn’t _leave_ you –“

“ _Herre Gud_ ,” Noora laughs. “How dramatic were you when I left for Spain, then?”

Noora is a goddamn savior and Isak will go down fighting for her. He can’t help the wince, though, because he _knows_ , and he’s fairly certain that _Noora knows too_ , just _how much_ Eskild can talk once he gets going, and nothing can get him going more than Noora literally fleeing the country.

He _physically_ takes a step back, and whilst Magnus is still looking incredibly confused, Jonas is now looking mildly concerned, and Noora, bless the girl, is trying her best to keep face.

Eskild narrows his eyes. “If you take away the ‘ _s_ ’ in Spain, what are you left with?”

Isak frowns. Judging by the put-upon look on Noora’s face, this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

“Pain,” she sighs.

“No,” Eskild sasses. “You’re left with me, in _Oslo_ , where I’ve been _abandoned_.” Pauses dramatically. “ _And_ the only feeling I was able to feel when you _abandoned_ me.”

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ ,” Isak groans, pinching at Eskild’s side to get him to let go of him, then flays his hands around in everyone’s direction. “Kitchen’s that way, living room’s the other, do _not_ have sex in my room, _Eskild_.”

“Why am I being singled out?”

Isak doesn’t deign to answer, just levels Eskild with a _look_ until Eskild nods, goes, “ _fair enough_ ,” and giggles with Eva.

God, Isak wants a drink. He wants _many_ drinks, but the thought of having more than the one beer he’s been nursing so far makes him feel a bit ill, so he heads into the living room instead of the kitchen.

He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know why the thought of standing near Eskild makes him feel so anxious, why he feels angry when he sees Eskild laughing with Eva or Noora, why _he_ can’t be at ease just like them. Guilt and shame mixes uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He plasters on a grin when four guys recognize him, cheering and waving their beers at him.

He doesn’t walk over to them. He’s fairly certain they’re in some of Jonas’ classes, but he’s not certain enough he’s willing to chance making a fool of himself. He feels like he’s slowly creeping out of his own skin, like he’s inches from falling apart. It’s exhausting. _Isak_ is exhausted. And the apartment’s in a tip and he can feel a headache coming on from the music, and he doesn’t know when he became this person.

Or – he does, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

 _This is better_ , Isak tries to convince himself. If it isn’t better than – than _that_ , then it’s at least better than when he was drinking himself into oblivion any waking hour, when he was drinking so much he’d wake up still drunk and then just start drinking again. The fact that he came away without having to get his stomach pumped even once is more of a miracle than Isak thinks anyone will ever get to experience.

There’s a movie playing on the television, the same one they’ve had streaming pretty much since it was released. It’s one of Even’s. Somehow, Isak doesn’t know why, but _somehow_ Magnus always manages to talk them all into giving _him_ TV-rights to choose what will be playing, and it’s _always_ one of Even’s movies.

This time it’s ‘ _Circles_ ’, Even’s newest one that Isak hadn’t been strong enough to not watch it in the middle of the night about a week after you’d been able to stream it. The recommendation taunting him whenever he’d wanted to relax until he’d caved. But he’d been strong enough to not check out any of the reviews for it. Except then Magnus had ended up yelling how it’s been nominated for an award, but Isak still counts it as a personal win that he hadn’t looked it up _himself_. Baby steps. Just enough to fool himself into believing he’s getting better.

Maybe if he fools himself long enough he’ll actually start to believe it.

At least either the volume is too low for Isak to hear any of it, or everyone around him is too loud for Isak to hear any of it.

He finally makes his way over to the window. He wants to crack it open, but he knows that’s a bad idea. They’re bound to get a noise complaint sooner or later, opening the window would only make it much sooner.

Maybe he should open the window. He can see Jonas and Eva’s reflections in window, can hear Magnus’ laughter from another room, can see a glimpse of Mahdi chatting up some girl Isak doesn’t recognize. He scowls at all of them, feels something ugly swirl around in his stomach.

No. _No_ , he reminds himself, presses his face against the glass pane, shivering at the cold shock it brings. They’re his friends – his _best_ friends – and just because this year, the year that was supposed to be Isak’s year, has gotten off with a bit of a bad start doesn’t mean Isak can take it out on his _best friends_. It’s not their faults Isak is such a fuck up.

Besides, it’s not like it’s too _late_ , really. Surely if Isak just tried harder, things would go back to normal. Better than normal, even, because that had been Isak’s goal when he moved all his stuff into the room at the end of the hall, put on his blue-striped bed sheets and listened to Magnus waxing poetry about some sex dream he’d had and Jonas and Mahdi taking the piss out of him.

It’s not just the boys, though, is the thing. Isak knows he’s been shitty to Eskild too. He can hear him out in the kitchen, laughing and chanting _chug, chug, chug_ and generally encouraging a mess Isak is bound to be the one cleaning up later.

This is the year he’s supposed to get things right, to stop feeling so _wrong_ all the goddamn time, and that’s not going to happen if he’s sulking in a corner the entire night.

He’s just got to get better at acting, Isak convinces himself. Squares his shoulders, straightens his back, and just _breathes_.

If he gets better at acting, then the boys will stop acting so awkward around him. They’ll stop walking on eggshells and they’ll stop looking at Isak like he’s a stranger in their house.

He walks away from the window, hand clutching his beer bottle. He’s shaking and his palm feels clammy from sweat. He really hopes it isn’t noticeable, any of it. Not just the shaking and the sweating.

“Isak!” A hand clamps down onto his shoulder so harshly it jostles Isak forwards until he nearly falls flat on his face. “Jesus, how much you had to drink?”

Isak turns to see some guy, one of Mahdi’s football friends by the looks of it, going off of the build and the muscles.

Isak tries to grin as he worms his way out from under the guy’s hand until he’s facing him. “Not nearly enough.”

The guy cheers and holds up his own cup of brown sludge that Isak doesn’t particularly want to witness him downing.

He’s lucky for once. Football-guy gets distracted when a girl accidentally puffs to him when she passes. He spends approximately fifteen seconds staring at her ass as she continues on her way, all of which Isak spends judging him.

“How you been, man?” the guy tries again. “Haven’t seen you since that party at Mikael’s.”

Something lurches through Isak’s body, cold dread that he has to fight to clamber down into nothing he’ll accidentally give away. He should open his mouth, he’s about to – should say _Oh, yeah, wasn’t feeling well_ , and then immediately follow it up by a question that’ll give the guy talking.

Except he’s saved from having to do any of that.

“Who is _Mikael_?” Eskild slithers up from behind Isak. He tries his best not to jump or tense up, because it’s _Eskild_ and there’s no reason for him to _be_ tense. It’s stupid. _He’s_ stupid. It’s all stupid. “And why have I not been introduced to him?”

Isak still tenses at the touch, but it’s _Eskild,_ so Isak tries to not make it too obvious.

“Magnus’ friend,” Isak has to twist his head to the side so he’s nearly shouting directly into Eskild’s ear. “I don’t really know him.”

Present tense, because Mikael might’ve changed. He might not make the same kind of jokes or like the same action movies with far too many explosions for them to be contributing to any kind of storyline anymore. He might not like a cool glass of saft when he comes home or to lounge around outside when the weather’s nice anymore. He might not even be in contact with Even anymore and the party had just been a one-off.

“Oh. By the way, Mahdi told me to give you this and to tell you to stop leaving it around everywhere,” Eskild sounds bored as he hands over Isak’s hoodie.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s stuck in his throat when he grabs on to it.

“Can’t believe you’ve still got it, it’s so _old_.” Eskild turns his attention onto the jock instead. “And who might you be, then?”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard he actually misses the introduction. He tunes back in when Eskild lingers in the handshake and the guy is grinning nervously, switching between looking at Isak and looking at Eskild.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” the guy says when Eskild has buggered off somewhere else, even as he had walked away while looking over his shoulder on too many times for it to be anything other than intentional.

Fear flashes through him. Half of the sip of beer splutters out of Isak’s mouth while the other half blocks his airways until Isak is coughing and red-faced and looking incredibly unattractive.

“ _Eskild_?” Isak grimaces. “No. No, no, no. Definitely not my boyfriend.” Shit, does that sound like he’s denying it too much, thus reversing the intention and effect of a denial?

Why would he even be asking that? Is it only because of Eskild or has Isak done something that would warrant – Shit, Isak can’t think about it now, he’s at the middle of a party in his own home, he can’t _leave_.

“Oh,” the guy looks taken aback, even as his eyes wander off towards the direction Eskild had disappeared in. _Oh_ , indeed. “There’s nothing going on between –“

“He’s my old roommate,” Isak cuts in, and says with a finality that hopefully sticks, “that’s it.”

“Oh,” the guy repeats. He isn’t even looking at Isak anymore. “Do you mind then if I –“

“Go for it,” Isak slaps him on the back, steps around him and gets the hell out of dodge. Jesus, has he unintentionally become the designated matchmaker? A lot of people seemingly have a lot of faith in him for that particular job, despite Isak having zero interest in most people.

The flat is a mess already and the party has only been going for about an hour. There are empty cans and bottles on every flat surface and Isak shouldn’t, he _shouldn’t_ start cleaning. He should be mingling and helping Magnus hook up with someone and rip into him with Mahdi and Jonas when he starts asking the wrong question. He _shouldn’t_ be isolating himself by _cleaning_.

Isak sighs, deep and long-sufferingly, and grabs a clear plastic bag from the cabinet and starts collecting the cans, avoiding any he can feel liquid still swishing around in the bottom. The metal clanks against each other in a way Isak more so feels than hears over the music pounding in the entire flat. They’re going to get noise complaints, for _sure_. Isak has no idea how the guys had thought this would ever have been a good idea.

Except, had they asked him those weeks ago if he wanted to help host a party, Isak probably would’ve agreed to it. He would’ve been keyed up and he would’ve participated, and he would’ve been drinking properly instead of how he’s been nursing his single bottle of beer for the entire night before he’d finally given up after a few sips.

He doesn’t know how he’s come to feel like this, doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. He’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to be drinking excessively, that this was the year he was going to actually _try_ and _succeed_. So far it’s only felt like one failure right after the other.

He hasn’t become a better friend. Instead, they’re all tip-toeing around him because they’re too afraid when he’s going to snap and run off again. The need to run is constant, but Isak has a feeling that the snap will be happening because of something else entirely if the boys don’t _cut it out_.

He hasn’t become a better student – he’s barely understood half of the lectures and he’s less than impressed with the homework he’s been doing. Sana’s going to kill him if he doesn’t get his act together _soon_.

Failure after failure. But the not drinking part, _that_ Isak can gain control over, or so he hopes. Maybe he doesn’t fully trust himself, hence why he hadn’t dared more than the beer.

There’s a couple making out up against the wall next to their front door that’s open and has more people spilling in. They all clap Isak’s back when they pass him, seemingly knowing him because they all shout out his name in greeting. Isak doesn’t recall meeting any of them ever, and wonders if it’s because he’s just inattentive to anyone he doesn’t think of as his friend, or if he’s actually met these people and just can’t remember them because all they’d been was a means to get drunk.

“How are things looking?” someone, Sana, yells into his ear.

Isak stumbles back, startled, but it just turns to annoyance when he sees Sana looking way too smug. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but she seems to be able to predict what he’s about to say so she just rolls her eyes and interrupts him.

“With the plan.”

Isak groans. The plan. The plan he was supposed to have but most definitely doesn’t.

“I tried!” He hadn’t. “It’s just that –“

Oh god, one of Sana’s eyebrows arch up into her forehead. _Shit_ , Isak is in trouble.

“Last I checked,” she drawls, actually _drawls_ , “I haven’t seen you _near_ Magnus, and you didn’t even say hi to Vilde when she came in.”

The _most_ amount of trouble. Sana levels a _very_ unimpressed look at him.

And Isak doesn’t have a _single_ excuse.

To be fair, the Eskild-thing had kind of distracted him quite a bit, but he doubts Sana has the empathy required to let him get away with such a statement, so Isak doesn’t even bother.

“Magnus is in the kitchen, _go_.” Sana pushes him along the way, making him stumble over the floor.

He turns around to level a glare at her, but she’s managed to disappear before he can, and then when he turns around again to head into the kitchen, he nearly runs over Vilde in the process.

“ _Fy faen_ , Vilde!” he exclaims, reaches out to grab onto her shoulders to steady her, even as he hadn’t actually touched her. “Shit. You can’t just stand behind –”

Vilde’s frowning at him. “Why does Emma Larzen think she’s welcome here?” she asks in lieu of a proper reply or greeting. “Isn’t she a first year?”

The dread isn’t a welcome feeling. It’s chilling and hot at the same time, and Isak feels clammy and disgusting as his heart picks up its speed and he glances around the room, whatever of the hallway, frantically, but trying to downplay it so Vilde doesn’t question him about it.

“Is she here?” he manages to get out.

“No. But she DM’ed me, asking for your address and said you weren’t answering your phone.”

Isak wants to groan, wants to throw his head back. Wants to kick all of these people out.

He wants to go to bed and sleep for an eternity, or maybe just go to sleep and never wake up, but that’s a bit too gloomy for his own taste, so he ignores that stray urge.

“Just –“ he tries to think of something that wouldn’t seem odd. “Just ignore her.”

That just makes Vilde frown further. “I can’t just ignore her,” she protests. “I’ve already read her message. I can’t just leave her on ‘ _read_ ’.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Isak side-steps her and heads for the kitchen. _Jesus_ , this isn’t going very well, but it’ll be easier to finagle Magnus into doing his bidding than it would be Vilde, Isak is fairly sure.

Unless Jonas is there. Or Mahdi. Then everything will be downright impossible and Isak will _sue_ Sana.

 _Both_ Jonas and Mahdi are in the kitchen, and they’re _both_ talking to Magnus, as if they can’t stand in group formation literally any other time during the day, because it’s not like they _live together_ or anything. Fuck, this is going to take a lot more effort than Isak had originally imagined.

Mahdi is the one who spots him first. He looks annoyed, but not at Isak at least.

It’s not helpful enough to not make Isak feel horribly out of place, though.

He shuffles closer at Mahdi’s beckon just in time to hear Magnus blurt out some nonsense that doesn’t make sense out of context, something about word just spreading.

“It’s a _lot_ more people than we’d agreed on,” Mahdi fills him in once he’s close enough. He looks at Isak like he expects him to back him up, which – alright Isak isn’t _thrilled_ either, but he wouldn’t have been thrilled with half the people who’ve shown up either. He wonders when that happened; when did he become the grumpy friend who just wants to stay in and be alone? And why can’t he shake himself out of that funk?

Jonas is frowning, eyebrows curling and filling most of his forehead. “Alright, so it’s a couple more people than anticipated, but – why are you so mad? You’re usually pretty chill about everything –” and shuts up at whatever face Mahdi makes at him. Isak elects to ignore it, though, as he’s fairly certain Mahdi was gesturing to _him_.

Jonas does have a point, though, but Mahdi is also the first one to give any of them shit for messing up. Isak is definitely willing to count the group of girls giggling about a spilled vodka bottle a mess-up.

“What happens if we get a noise complaint, huh? If our landlord sees this mess, we’re _fucked_. We’re never getting that deposit back.”

Magnus snorts. “We weren’t getting that back anyway – remember _the incident_ when we moved in?”

“We agreed _not_ to mention that ever again,” Mahdi glares at him.

“Hey, I covered that up _fantastically_ , thank you very much. We could’ve at least fooled him into giving the money back,” Isak protests, magnanimously ignoring Jonas snorting about _handyman Isak_ , which had been a nickname Isak had worked extremely hard to get rid of. “Why don’t we – let’s just start cleaning, alright?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to sound so tired. Jonas is giving him ‘ _the eyes_ ’ again and Magnus is looking at him oddly for no going bigger on the ‘ _I told you so_ ’ he’s never been shy at shoving in their faces. God, how did Isak manage to fuck up _twice_ in one sentence?

“Isak –“ Jonas starts, but Isak doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t want for him to.

“I’ll start getting rid of the cans. Just –“ he turns to Mahdi, “relax, alright? We’ll fix it,” and then hurries to get out of there before one of them can grab a hold of him.

It’s surprisingly easy enough to ignore the feeling of his heart being wrenched out of chest and the insurmountable panic and worries looming over his head when the music really is so damn loud and there are so many people within the enclosed space. Isak has to push over a couple making out in front of the built-in closet where they keep the cleaning supplies and the clear bin bags, and the soundtrack of lips smacking together disgustingly shouldn’t overpower the sound of the stereo, but somehow it _does_.

They shuffle over willingly enough, at least, probably barely noticing they’re being moved if Isak is being honest with himself.

And whilst he’s being honest with himself, Isak _knows_ Mahdi’s issue isn’t the party or how many people have shown up or how much a pigsty their flat is currently in, or whether or not they’ll get back that stupid deposit that wasn’t that much in the first place. No, Mahdi never would’ve even noticed all those things if it had been any other evening _before_ the party at Mikael’s, _before_ Isak started acting weird, because Mahdi would’ve been in the bathroom or his own room smoking from his stash and making friends and probably figuring out which girl he’d want to kiss at the end of the night.

What Mahdi’s issue is, is Isak. And Isak _hates_ that feeling clawing at his chest at the thought. Hates that he knows that’s what this is about, that the boys can’t even be subtle enough to hide it.

It’s not even the fact that the only reason Isak isn’t being interrogated by them is because of how much he apparently scared them with his disappearing act that’s bothering Isak. Or that they’ve supposedly been so focused on Isak and whatever the hell his problem is that they’re walking on eggshells around him, yet he was still so forgettable they didn’t even mention they were throwing a party that he not only was to attend but also invite people to join. It’s not the guilty, pitying glances they keep throwing him, and the halfhearted explanations and apologies that won’t stop no matter how many times Isak insists, “ _it’s fine, just an honest mistake, don’t worry about it, we’re good, I’m fine_.” It’s not that he’s entirely unable to sleep anymore, just tossing and turning in his bed instead until he slips into a fitful slumber in the wee hours of the morning until his alarm wakes him up.

Or maybe it’s all of those things. Because what’s bothering Isak is how he can’t get this to quiet down.

Not the party. Parties are always loud, and this one is no exception. He doesn’t need people around him to stop talking, because lord knows the guys are already filtering out most of their sentences and conversation just to not accidentally say the wrong thing. It’s inside his _head_ he can’t get things to shut the _hell_ up.

He rips two bags off before figuring he probably won’t keep at it for long enough to fill them up, and then stuffs everything back in the closet. There’re already plenty cans and bottles lining every single flat surface, so it’s easy enough to pick up two empty cans and make his way back into the kitchen to make sure they’re fully drained.

Mahdi isn’t there when he gets back. Both Jonas and Magnus are still there, but Magnus is talking to someone Isak doesn’t know, and Jonas has Eva pressed up against the wall. Isak has a foreign twinge to go over there and so something stupid like, _right in front of my salad?_ , because that’s something he would’ve done – _has_ done, back when they were moving in and Eva was helping out, because who’d know how the place would’ve ended up looking like if they didn’t make a system from the get-go.

But then the _other_ feeling is back, the one he can’t seem to shake. The one that makes him walk over to the sink instead, turn his back on both Magnus and Jonas, and just stare as a couple drops of beer spills into the sink and he can dunk the bottles into one of the bin bags.

There are enough empty, used, and opened bottles and cans on the kitchen counter as well, so Isak systematically goes through each; drains them, dunks them, repeat. He can hear people talking around him, laughing, cheering, and it feels oddly isolating not to be doing the same.

“Hey,” he hears, his heart jumps into his throat and he whirls around only to see Noora.

She’s nursing a glass of water, Isak fairly sure because he doesn’t think she drinks. There’s a tiny smudge of red on the rim of the glass from her lipstick, but it isn’t noticeable on her lips. She’s smiling at him, small and friendly.

“ _Hei_ ,” he greets back, maybe straining too much to sound happy for it to come off as authentic, but Noora is nice enough to not let her judging show or to react to it at all. “Everything alright?”

She nods, takes another sip of water. Isak's hands itch to do something, but he thinks it’s too rude to turn his back on her to continue what he was doing, so he can’t do anything but let the twitchy anxiety settle over him.

“ _Du vet_ , with all the times I had Eskild moaning how you never did any housework, I never expected to see _you_ get started on cleaning with the party still going on.”

Isak laughs, ends a little too short and stilted. He feels weird talking about Eskild, guilty at not having spoken to Eskild for so long. He’s gotten so used to no one knowing anything about his life previous to university – besides just very general things. It had been easy to play along when the boys had been moaning about how simultaneously hard and freeing it was to finally have moved out of their parents’ home instead of having to admit Isak hadn’t living his parents for _years_ at that point. Having someone know that, having them know about Eskild, and having Noora who’s lived with Eskild too and knows exactly his quirks and personality traits and how much of a saint he can be but also how goddamn annoying leaves Isak feeling on edge around them.

“ _Nei_ ,” he looks down at his feet so he won’t have to look at Noora. “Mahdi was freaking out about the mess, though, so I figured I’d just get a head-start, you know?”

She doesn’t nod and doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what to _do_ with that.

“Anyway, it’s nice to be able to see the counter,” he tries, then actually looks at the counter and wrinkles his nose. “Or maybe not. God, I swear it’s not usually this gross.” He chances a touch and instantly pulls back much to Noora’s amusement. “Christ, that’s sticky. Alright, don’t touch that.”

“You can’t still be grossed out a sticky stuff after having lived with Eskild, can you?” she laughs. “God knows what the state of his bedding was like when I wasn’t cleaning it for him while you lived there.”

Isak blinks. Why would she – why would _Isak_ know what the state of Eskild’s bedding was like? Why would she think he was in Eskild’s room, on Eskild’s _bed_? Was she –

“ _Hallo_!”

Isak jumps, startled out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into that only would’ve ended with him pathetically defending his straightness and possibly yelling at Noora, to look at Sana pissed face. _Fuck_ , Isak does _not_ need any more problems.

She arches an eyebrow at him, like _that_ will do anything. Isak tries arching one back, but he thinks he just ends up raising both of them.

She scoffs at him, which – _still_ isn’t helpful – and then levels her best glare at him. Isak does a body wiggle he knows to be equally unhelpful, and he only relishes a little bit in how Sana manages to look even more annoyed with him at that.

In the end, she only needs to say two words. “The _plan_.”

 _Fuck_.

Isak is so _done_.

He levels his own glare at her, sneers a “ _Fine_ ,” that at least sounds more sassy than angry, and worms his way through Noora and Sana with the two bin bags only partially filled.

He’d just seen Magnus, he could definitely get him to follow him around until they end up bumping into Vilde, who better not have already found someone to make out with or Isak will _actually leave_.

It’s by total accident and perfect surprise when he turns around to get to Magnus and accidentally bumps into Vilde for the second time that night.

“Ah, Vilde, perfect!” Isak hands over the two bags filled with empty bottles. “Do you mind taking these down to the first room on the left? I’ve kind of got my hands full here,” he shrugs, all apologetically and the worst part is that it works brilliantly.

Vilde is wide-eyed, as she always is when someone starts speaking to her, and she clearly isn’t fully prepared when Isak transfers the handles over to her hands – her phone is in one of her hands like Emma is still trying to get a hold of the party info – but all it takes is a gentle puff and she’s on her way down the hallway.

Isak counts to five until he snags a hand around Magnus’ elbow, drawing him out of whatever conversation he’d been having.

“Shit, Mags, there were some weird chirping noises coming from your room. Did you leave your window open again?”

Magnus groans and shoves his half-filled beer bottle at Isak, who barely manages to catch it without spilling it all over himself. “If there’s a freaking dove inside my room again, we are _moving_ , I don’t even care –“

And off he goes. Isak should put this on his resume – professional cupid, as long as it doesn’t concern his own relationships where he will flop epically.

Yeah, maybe not. Except for how Sana looks begrudgingly impressed with Isak’s ingenuity. That’s a novel look on her.

“You know,” Noora clinks her soda can against Isak’s newly acquired beer. “You shouldn’t refer to girls as birds.”

Isak snorts. “I’m just introducing them to a different version of the ‘ _cat and mouse_ ’-game. _Cat-and-bird_ , in this case, I think.”

Noora groans. “Oh god, no more cat-talk, _please_.”

“I don’t know,” Isak raises the beer to his lips, ignoring the voice in his head screaming about germs and the other quieter one, telling him he’d agreed to stop. “Maybe this is the push they needed to get the cat out of the bag.”

Noora rolls her head back. “ _Det var kattens_.”

“Are you two seriously just making cat-puns over there?”

OOOOO

It’s just gone past half two in the morning when enough people have fizzled out of the apartment that Isak doesn’t feel guilty for sinking down on the couch with a heavy sigh. There’s a boy and girl making out in an armchair in the corner of the living room, too wrapped up in each other to notice how few people are left. Maybe Isak should get up and tell them to head out, before the state of that armchair will be questionable at best and ready to throw out at worst, but Jonas is closer and has spotted them already.

Besides, Isak is exhausted, physically and mentally. He’s just – done.

He blinks tiredly as Jonas gets the couple’s attention and nods towards the door. The girl giggles, fixes her clothes as she gets off the guy’s lap and stands up. Thankfully neither of them get mad for the interruption – Jonas looks tired, too, but happy tired. A _I’ve-spent-the-entire-evening-having-fun_ kind of tired. A tired completely opposite to Isak’s kind of tired.

There are bottles and cans lined up on the coffee table that Isak knows he should probably clean now before they have permanent stains on the surface. Eva will fuss over those every time she comes over, but it’s too hard work trying to get his limbs to cooperate, let alone actually get up and do something, so Isak just remains there, sitting and staring and thinking of all the things he should be doing instead of _this_.

Eva’s half-asleep on the other couch, leaning against Vilde who keeps sneaking glances over at Magnus incredibly non-subtly – well, then again, everything is relative, and she certainly is more subtle than Magnus’ blatant _staring_ – as she talks to Noora about something.

It’s startling a bit, the contrast of how quiet it’s gone. They still have some music on in the background, but it’s a lot quieter than what had been playing earlier, and someone’s changed it from the party-playlist to the one with miscellaneous calmer songs they’d jokingly put together to play whenever one of them are in a bad mood. It’s been mysteriously absent considering just how much Isak has been messing things up the last little while.

Eskild slumps down next to him, or, more so fully on him. He’s warm and sweaty and Isak is at least a little bit grossed out, but then he remembers that the first time he met Eskild, he’d vomited on his shoes. Suddenly, warm and sweaty doesn’t seem as bad, even if there is a threat of other bodily fluids still being on him.

“How was the big jock, then?” Isak teases. Eskild smiles up at him dopily, all dazed and blessed out, and maybe Isak would worry if he didn’t know what that particular face means.

“ _Klaus_ ,” Eskild corrects, making Isak rolls his eyes, “was _great_ , thank you very much.”

“You done enough hooking up for the night?”

Eskild sighs, very put-upon in the exact way he always does when he’s about to sprout off some older ‘wisdom’ at Isak. “This is a _university_ party, Isak, not some little high school gathering you might be used to.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt Eskild to remind him this is his _second_ year at university.

“I don’t waste my time on menial _hook ups_.”

“What have you been doing for the last hour, then?” Isak questions before he can consider the consequences. “Discussing refugee crises?”

“Very funny,” Eskild dead-pans. “And don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Unless you’re prepared to know exactly the places my mouth and his mouth have been –“

Isak lets out an unintelligible string of noises to cut off Eskild. “You just said you didn’t kiss him!”

“’ _Kissing_ ’,” Eskild uses two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks. “You never mentioned anything about sex.”

Isak groans, rolls his head back onto the couch while Eskild cackles as he sits up properly next to him. “ _Please_ tell me you at least didn’t do it in _my_ room.”

Eskild shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Like it would’ve been the first time.”

Isak definitely does not squeak. He yells out indignantly.

“It was the room with all the fit lads plastered onto the walls,” Eskild takes a sip of his beer. “Can’t have been your room, then, your straightness would’ve felt attacked by the mere presence of someone cuter than you near your bed.”

Isak rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t comment on it. Mahdi’s room then, if Isak guesses correctly based on the various FIFA paraphernalia Mahdi has collected over the years. He should remember to remind Mahdi to wash the sheets before he falls asleep there.

Maybe not right now, though, he thinks as Mahdi falls down onto one of their beanbags, laughing back over his shoulder at something Magnus has said.

It doesn’t matter that Eskild is technically as ‘ _out_ ’ as one can be, the thought of gossiping about what Eskild, a _boy_ , has done with another _boy_ is enough to get Isak’s heart pounding a beat too fast.

He hurries to look away from both Mahdi and Eskild, turns his head to the left instead and looks as Jonas wrinkles his nose at the armchair that had nearly been used by strangers. Isak makes a mental note not to get close to the chair for the next while unless he be the one getting stuck with cleaning it.

Jonas sandwiches himself down on the other couch between the armrest and Eva, who immediately leans up against him, grinning widely. Magnus drags a chair over, Chris claims the other beanbag, and Sana settles on the opposite armrest to Jonas’, the one next to Noora, who immediately wraps her arm around Sana’s middle to keep her from falling off.

It’s unnerving how seamlessly it all plays out, like this isn’t the first time they’ve all been together at the same place, with all of them aware of the others’ presences, at least.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Mahdi groans, ”that out of _all of us_ , only _one_ got lucky tonight?”

Isak immediately notices how both Magnus and Vilde flush a brilliantly matching red and refuse to look at each other, but he thinks he might be the only one with how Eskild’s cackle and Jonas’ immediate complains steal everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got _Eva_ which means you’re perpetually happy,” Mahdi waves off Jonas without listening to anything he’s said, and holds his fist out for Eskild to bump.

“I think this might be the straightest thing I’ve done all night.”

Isak snorts. “That doesn’t say a lot,” and tries to smother his laugh at Eskild’s affronted look.

“ _Noora_ ,” he immediately whines when Isak refuses to give him any sympathy. “Come sit with me instead of this grumpy boy,” batting his eyelashes for extra effect, as if that’ll be enough.

Noora coos at Eskild from the other couch, but doesn’t move. She does, however, diplomatically add, “I’m quite sure dissing is reserved for those who _haven’t_ gotten laid.”

Isak grumbles unintelligibly as Eskild gleefully grabs onto his shoulder and shakes him around. It’s mostly groaning noises coming out of Isak’s mouth, but it doesn’t really matter with how loud the rest of them are being.

“C’mon, baby grump,” Eskild needles him, still managing to poke him more often than not despite Isak’s best attempts. “Gimmie the gossip, the 411.”

He’s waggling his eyebrows dramatically until Isak rolls his eyes and pushes his face away.

“Oh, come _on_! It’s the least you can do after practically dropping off the face of the planet for the last _forever_!”

Isak’s stomach churns with guilt, and it’s so familiar – especially over the last little while – but also so dizzily overwhelming Isak nearly throws caution to the win and just chugs down the remaining half of the vodka bottle from earlier that he knows is still in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He remains sitting on the couch, surrounded by his friends and he doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

“It hasn’t been _that_ long,” he tries instead, even though it has. He makes half-assed attempts of excuses, because he’s apparently both a shitty person _and_ a shitty friend. And he sees how Eskild just _knows_ it’s all bullshit, but because he’s _Eskild_ he doesn’t comment on it and just lets Isak get away with it, probably realizing that confronting him right now would amount to nothing seeing as Isak is a _mess_ barely holding on by a thread.

Mahdi and Magnus are suddenly worryingly quiet compared to the girls and Eskild, and Isak _knows_ , okay, he fucking _knows_ what they’re thinking about, what the _real_ ‘411’ is. How a world-famous, award-winning-and-nominated movie director apparently knows _Isak_ , and how Isak would literally rather run away than deal with it, _scaring_ his friends into keeping quiet even as they can _tell_ something is really, _really_ wrong.

 _That_ gossip. Shit, Isak feels _sick_. He always does nowadays, and he’s _sick_ of feeling sick.

He can’t tell if Jonas thinks he’s being sly or not, the way he looks at Mahdi and Magnus as if reminding them to keep quiet, Isak can only tell that he _really fucking isn’t_ being smooth or covert about it at all, but pointing it out also means pointing everything else out, so Isak stays quiet. As always.

“You can go into his room and stare at his four _non-decorated_ walls, and then you can walk to campus from classroom to classroom and go visit the library,” Jonas lists on his fingers. “ _That’s_ the extent of Isak’s 411.”

Eskild blinks comically.

“That’s _it_?” he blurts out, much to Sana’s amusement. Isak levels a glare in her direction that she not so smoothly pretends not to have seen. “Seriøst?” and levels a majorly unimpressed look at Isak. “ _Seriøst_?” he repeats.

“What?” Isak knocks his arms out. “What did you expect me to do? Go frolicking at a uni club? Hook up in a storage closet? Chug my body weight in shots at the student union?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

Isak wrinkles his nose. “’ _Seriøst_?’” he mocks.

“Seriøst!” Eskild doesn’t even comment on the sass. “Where are all the stories? The _juice_? The mind-blowing sex parties and crazy exes?”

Mahdi snorts and his face is relaxed, but his shoulders are tense. “Pretty sure Isak is the most drama-free out of all of us.”

Isak almost wants to laugh at that – if it didn’t seem more tempting to fall down a hole and stay there for eternity – or at the very least at Eskild’s _very_ comically disbelieving face.

“Isak?” Eskild asks, pointing at him. “ _This_ Isak? This very specimen of an Isak? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Isak?”

“You forgot about the coffee shop he insists on visiting before a study session so he’s late for _every single one of them_ ,” Sana deadpans, her façade only cracking when Isak flips her off.

“ _Coffee_ dates, at least?” Eskild asks him hopelessly, slumping back on the couch way too dramatically when Isak shakes his head. “So you don’t go out – does that mean there’s just a slew of people coming in and out of this place?”

“Hey!” Isak objects, vaguely affronted at the insinuation, smacking Eskild’s arm. “And just how many times did I have to walk in on you doing it because you couldn’t move from the living room to your bedroom?”

Eskild doesn’t even have the _gall_ to flush – life is unfair. Both Noora and Eva are cackling and pointing at each other whilst wheezing out half words, but it’s enough for Isak to conclude Eskild probably hasn’t stopped that habit after Isak moved out.

This is good, though. Moving the topic away from Isak’s antics when everything in his head is screaming at him, _too close, too close, they’ll find out, they’ll just_ know.

“You never bring anyone back!” Magnus calls out and _why_ did he think _now_ was a good time to rejoin the conversation – and with _that_ remark?

Eskild gapes over at him. “Isak _isn’t scoring_ anyone?”

Magnus frowns. “I mean – I _guess_ he isn’t. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“That can’t be, though,” Chris interrupts. “I’m in an entirely different program, but even _I_ hear girls talking about him.”

“Uh, _hallo_ , I’m sitting _right here_ ,” Isak reminds them, thankfully sounding more sassy than _terrified_. Fuck, his throat feels tight.

“Lots of talk,” Noora agrees, holding the rim of her glass against her red lips. “It’s got to be the curls.”

“Must be,” Eskild frowns as he looks Isak over. “That grumpy frown is an instant mood-killer, after all.”

“Not to mention the ugliness,” Mahdi agrees, grinning when Isak gapes over at him in faux betrayal. He doesn’t know how he manages to play it off so well – his heart is pounding and he’s scared Eskild’s sitting close enough to hear it.

“It’s your fault Emma Larzen has been blowing my phone up all night,” Vilde adds, and Magnus – still not able to _look_ at her – snaps his fingers in her direction.

“He even had one served on a silver platter,” Magnus holds his hand out flat like he’s a waiter presenting said platter. “Ready for the picking, and he turns her down.”

A flush rises to Isak’s cheeks as he tries to groan indignantly. “I told you! I’m getting all these _psycho_ -vibes from her, I don’t –“

“He doesn’t _have_ to get with her, if he doesn’t want to,” Jonas points out, but it sounds half-hearted and falls flat even to Isak’s ears, which, admittedly, are mostly filled with the thrum of his pulse and his blood rushing.

Mahdi looks at Jonas like he’s stupid for even thinking that, and Isak doesn’t dare look at any of the girls, just in case he’s secretly breaking unspoken guy-rules only girls know about, and by breaking them they can _tell_ something is up.

“Is he still sneaking out all the time?” Eskild asks, as if it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear Isak’s life is excruciatingly boring, _meticulously_ so, because the last time Isak let his life _not_ be boring things ended up really fucking shitty.

Isak steadfastly ignores how Jonas is looking over at him. He grabs one of the bottles on the table instead and starts scratching at the paper already peeling by itself from the damp caused by the condensation.

It’s stupid, because it feels like the only reason why is because Jonas _knows_ , that he’s managed to figure it out and he _knows_ , but that isn’t _logical_. It’s Isak’s fear playing tricks on him, but knowing that doesn’t lessen the actual fear one bit.

“Thought you were being all smooth, did you?” Eskild laughs, kicks lazily at Isak’s leg with his knee. “Thought we didn’t hear you coming and going and locking yourself in your room for a, seriously, _insane_ amount of hours.”

“What are you, my _babysitter_?” Isak grouses, feels Jonas’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. He tries to scratch at a spot that sticks stubbornly to the bottle, but all it amounts to is a wet lump of paper falling off next to the spot Isak had been focused on.

Now he also doesn’t dare look at _Eskild_. He doesn’t want to see if he’s pretending to be or if he’s genuinely hurt from Isak constantly being an asshole to him about being overprotective, when Isak knows exactly _why_ Eskild has always treated him a little gentler than he would anyone else.

“This is great!” Magnus laughs, nearly toppling off the chair when he throws himself backwards too hard. Mahdi catches his leg at the last second and hauls him back upright – Magnus doesn’t even look the slightest _perturbed_ at possibly having avoided breaking his neck, and yet Isak is over here, physically safe but feeling like he’s one look away from a full-blown panic attack.

There’s only so much mean comments and eye-rolls can cover up, and going off of how consciously Isak can feel Jonas looking at him, Isak guesses he’s at the end of the rope.

Somehow, for some reason, his brain interprets that as if it means that’ll be the end of the traumatic, off-handed comments that can be spewed off about him for the rest of the night.

Maybe that’s why what comes out of Eskild’s mouth next leaves Isak so stunned – or maybe it’s just the revelation itself.

“I swear to God,” Eskild nearly spills his beer with how far he leans forward, “I’m pretty sure he was _never_ alone in his room, like, _ever_.”

Suddenly all the noises that had built up fall away – in his head. Around him, there’s laughter and a wolf-whistle, and Isak hardly hears anything.

His heart is _pounding_.

He’d always known Eskild knew he had someone over, mostly because that was the only times Eskild would ever knock on his door instead of just plainly burst in, but he never stopped to think about _how much_ does Eskild know?

Could he hear that the voice inside his room was deep, clearly male? He’d been careful never to leave Even’s jacket or shoes out in the hallway, but had he slipped up? It only would’ve taken once and everyone would’ve noticed. Or had he noticed how articles of Isak’s clothing kept disappearing, and then new yet clearly worn ones would pop up in their place?

“I didn’t –“ he licks his lips. “I wasn’t –“

All the sounds rush back. The others’ laughter is so loud, it feels like drums, like the noise is closing in around Isak and he’ll have to tear his way out of there.

Surprisingly, Noora is the one who helps him. “Like _you’re_ one to talk, Eskild!” she laughs, plops herself down between Eskild and Isak and slings her arm around Eskild. “Or do I need to remind you of that one time where I –“

“ _Okay_ ,” Eskild sasses. “You’ve made your point.”

She removes her arm from around him and holds them both up, palm flat in front of her chest instead. “I’m _just saying_ – who has ‘ _The Lion King_ ’ on their sex playlist?”

Jonas guffaws and there’s a round of sniggering, but Chris is leaning forward in her chair.

“Depends,” she points at them. “Which song was it? Personally, I’m quite partial to ‘ _Be prepared_ ’ on my sex playlist.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Eva wheezes, holding a hand over her face.

“What?” Chris knocks her arms out. “ _Way_ more appropriate than ‘ _I Just Can’t Wait to Be King_ ’ or ‘ _Hakuna Matata_ ’.”

“’ _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ ’,” Mahdi calls out. “ _How_ did you miss ‘ _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ ’?”

“ _Shit_!” Chris swears and goes to knock the palm of her hand on her forehead, except she’s still holding her bottle of beer.

They’re all giggling messes when Chris has spilt beer into her hair and onto their beanbag, and the girls are trying to help her, but they’re all laughing too hard and Chris keeps moving because _she’s_ laughing too hard.

And Isak finally feels his lungs expand so he can get in a lungful of air. His heart is still racing her he breathes it out heavily through his mouth, but it doesn’t matter.

He got to _breathe_.

The next morning, or more like afternoon, Isak wakes up, cramped up on the couch with Magnus’ feet shoved in his face. Mahdi is folded up on the beanbags and Jonas is simply passed out on the carpet they _really_ need to vacuum before the day is over.

**_ Past _ **

For ages, Isak’s teachers had been screaming about how big a change it would be to start high school, and now that Isak is a first year it is incredibly underwhelming.

Maybe it’s because there just… isn’t a whole lot different. It’s still just a school; he has classes and homework, but at least now he gets to take more science classes and gets to look at new people – or at least people other than Elias, who, if word on the street is correct, has become a bit of a dealer, so good riddance.

Or maybe it’s because something that’s _supposed_ to be scary just doesn’t compare to all the _actual_ scary things that have already happened in Isak’s life – including the things that aren’t _supposed_ to be scary but are so fucking terrifying anyway.

Having to move out of his childhood home after his dad left and his mom got too ill and freaked out, meeting _Even_ and daring to be with him, even if it’s just behind closed doors, and working so hard to keep the existence of the two of them secret from everyone. Changing tram stop really doesn’t compare.

Out of all of that, it’s probably the secret that weighs the heaviest on Isak’s shoulders and in his heart.

It’s not that he wants anyone to know. That’s not it. There are times where he looks at Eskild, and he _knows_ it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things if Isak were to tell him, “ _Hey, I have a boyfriend,_ ” yet the thought of opening his mouth and letting the words out make him feel ill in the worst way possible, mainly disgusted with himself.

Having people know something like _that_ about _him_? Absolutely not, no thanks.

It’s not about Even, either, it’s about _Isak_. There’s nothing wrong with being in love with Even, anyone who’s ever met him and hasn’t fallen head over heels in love with him doesn’t have their head screwed on right, according to Isak.

He’s not even sure about _what_ it is he’s so scared of. All of it, maybe. Definitely. The thought of the looks following him around wherever he goes, hearing people talk about him, about _it_ , behind his back, knowing that everyone _knows_. Being called names, even if he should be used to it at this point, what with how much he’s been called _homse_ for ages by now, but it still makes his pulse spike. Having people determine what he’s like before they’ve even met him, just because he’s the _gay guy_ when in reality he’s just _Isak_ – an Isak who met his Even and got to fall in love with him. The thought of being reduced to nothing but his sexuality is enough to make any stray, however brief, thought of just _saying it out loud_ disappear faster than sunshine in Bergen.

Isak doesn’t exactly know what Even’s reasons are for not wanting to say it either. Probably a bit of the same, he reasons, when he takes the time to observe Even as he’s thinking about it.

Maybe there’s something else, too, but something Isak can’t quite put his finger on. The way he moves, how he talks sometimes. The way he looks at Isak, like he’s simultaneously in love and scared in the same way as Isak but also _differently_. The way Isak has out of the corner of his eye caught him looking when Isak has to leave for a little bit to avoid Eskild knocking to check in – like he’s both bracing himself for the sight of Isak leaving and is resigned to it. Isak doesn’t know what that _means_ , but he _hates_ that that is how Even always looks whenever Isak walks away, like he’s _expecting_ it.

The actual ‘keeping it a secret’ part is different for the two of them, as well. In some ways, Isak grumbles that Even has it easier, but in others Isak can admit that _he’s_ the one with the advantage.

Keeping a secret is easy when there’s no one else but you, when you’re all alone. Even has parents; parents that he still lives with, and Isak doesn’t. Parents, who ask him where he’s going, where he’s been, and for how long he’ll be gone when he leaves next.

Even has friends he has to keep up appearances with. The only people Isak comes into regular contact with that he doesn’t mind are Eskild and Linn, and it’s rather easy to just walk out of his room and into the kitchen or into the living room and talk to them or watch a movie so that they don’t constantly question what he’s doing.

Although, Isak can and _does_ argue, Eskild, whilst nothing close to being Isak’s parent, can certainly be as overbearing as one, coming to knock on Isak’s door to check if he’s still alive, which always serves to send a stab of fear through his heart when Even is in his room with him.

Even has his bus. Though most of the people there are his original friend-group, so Isak doesn’t think that should count fairly high. Still, there are people there that Even chooses to socialize with beyond his immediate squad, and Isak… _doesn’t_ do that. Doesn’t dare to. The more people he keeps close, the more time he has to spend _lying_ , and Isak is just too high-strung and exhausted at the mere idea.

Even’s got a job. That bit is still fairly new – just a few months ago when one his _many_ media teachers mentioned an old friend of a friend in the Norwegian film industry had been looking for an assistant, and if that was something Even was interested in.

Needless to say, it definitely was, so now Even’s the assistant to an assistant to an assistant to so many links of assistants Isak can’t wrap his head around it to an actual film director. And Even gets to be on an actual set – in the very background, but _on the set_ – and witness his dream career in the works. Isak loves seeing Even like that when he finishes a shift and heads straight for Isak’s room, still reeling off of excitement and complete giddiness and full of stories.

Seeing Even excited, though, doesn’t quite make up for the unpleasant jealousy inside him that flares up when Even suddenly doesn’t have as much time for Isak during the day. It’s an ugly possessiveness he’s struggling with when he already has to spend all of his time with Even in hiding. It’s childish and stupid and Isak actually hates himself for it, which is why he makes such a big deal out of _never_ letting Even know.

It doesn’t really matter, in the long run, Isak can admit to himself when he forces himself to think rationally about it. Because technically, Even can stay overtime at work, he’s allowed to, but he always comes back to Isak on the dot instead. He chooses _Isak_ , and that’s enough to reel the disgusting green monster back from tearing apart everything that Isak loves.

Even chooses him.

He goes to the Kollektiv, even as it’s a twenty minute longer journey from his workplace than if he’d just gone home. He tells Isak as the first person all about his day, and he shares his dreams of when he doesn’t have to observe the work from the back wall but be right in the middle of it all.

He never hesitates to lean down and kiss Isak when Isak tilts his head back, lips pursed just the slightest if he wants Even to move even quicker than usual, and he never waits for Isak to prompt him before he just _has_ to lean down and kiss him, even if he’s technically in the middle of talking.

It’s easy, Isak observes, his arms folded underneath his chin as he rests on his stomach, and Even sits at his desk supposed to be finishing up some homework but just too distracted to actually be productive. It’s easy to be content and excited and happy and ecstatic all in one when they’re like this.

Isak is lying on his bed, wearing boxers and Even’s hoodie and Even’s seemingly can’t stop taking his eyes off of him.

It’s one of Even’s favorites, the hoodie, Isak knows, because he’d spent ages painting the drawstrings multiple colors that he’ll tell everyone who sees it they’re just the colors he had when Isak knows it’s the colors of the rainbow and the pink, yellow and blue for a reason.

The tiny _i_ -s he’d written on the backside of the left one maybe should’ve brought Isak into a state of panic, because that’s just too close, too big of a hint, but it doesn’t. And every time he can get away with it, Isak steals this particular hoodie, because it’s soft and too big and it smells like Even.

It’s an added bonus that Even loves seeing him in it, loves seeing him wearing _only_ that, and Isak can’t resist giving him coy smiles whenever he catches Even looking.

 _I want to marry him_ keeps repeating in Isak’s head. He can’t stop smiling. _I want to marry him_.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen the way it does.

It’s summer. The weather is so hot it leaves all the rooms in the Kollektiv feeling stifling and clammy until its residents-plus-one can’t stand to wear much more than shorts and the thinnest t-shirt in their closets.

It seems like the sun takes forever to set these days, and Isak both mourns the relieving chill of winter and relishes in golden colors and red spots dancing across his eyelids as he basks in the sunlight, sitting propped up against the foot of his bed.

Eskild’s gone out for the night to some southern European-inspired party to celebrate the unusually hot weather, and he’s dragged Linn with him to make sure she actually gets some vitamin D when she insists on sitting cooped up in her room all day.

Isak had, naturally, high-fived her when she pointed out that most people got plenty of vitamin D in the bedroom, and then Linn, after all of Eskild’s scowling, had gone with him without complaint.

Even’s working late this evening, staying overtime at the studio for the experience more than the money. Isak had texted him half an hour ago that the coast was clear whenever he does make his way over.

Even had texted back a heart ten minutes later but no possible timeframe on _when_ that might just be, so Isak has resigned himself to sitting back and melting into a puddle on the floor for Even to find.

He’s not sure he likes the silence.

It’s rare to find himself home alone in the Kollektiv – Eskild usually zooms his way through as he does with everything else in his life, but Linn is pretty much a constant presence in the small home they’ve made for themselves.

And if his flatmates aren’t home, _Even_ is usually there with him, and time with Even has never made Isak feel alone in the way keeping secrets from your friends will do to you.

He feels… isolated, maybe, is the closest word to the tightening of his chest. Whether it’s isolation from the world or from himself, Isak can’t tell.

What he _can_ tell, however, is that there is only one person in the world who makes Isak’s chest tighten in an entirely different way, in the _best_ way.

It’s the third project Even’s been hired on to help with. This time around it’s a drama following around five different people’s stories; the only thing connecting them is the feeling of loss settling so deeply inside their bones they can’t escape from it.

Isak had joked Even’s eyes had practically lit up at the depressing nature of the theme, and then he’d spent the better of an hour kissing Even’s pout away and telling him over and over again how proud he was of him, how proud he was that Even was working towards something that makes him happy, until Even had been pink-cheeked and lips slackened and wet, and he’d been kissing Isak just to get him to stop talking.

Even when Isak is sitting here now, in an empty home and waiting, in a room bathed in gold and with the door open in a silent invitation for the one person who’s invited in, even when he’s feeling the most alone he doesn’t feel _lonely_.

The Kollektiv feels like it’s waiting with baited breath for Even to arrive, and Isak is right there along with it. The sun is moving further and further down the sky, but it’s still shining just as brightly as ever. And even with the proof of the day slowly coming to an end, with the actual embodiment shining right in Isak’s face that Even is later and later, he still only feels the need to laugh in complete giddiness and _relief_ that he won’t ever have to feel that crippling loneliness ever again.

Waiting for Even for mere _hours_ feels like _nothing_ , doesn’t feel like the slightest sacrifice compared to what Even gives him back just by _being there_.

Isak is in fucking _love_ , and even now, with so much time having passed since he first met Even, he still feels like he’s either about to burst with it or implode from working so hard to keep it all bottled up.

He never wants to give this feeling up. Never, ever, ever. Can’t even imagine the day he’ll have to. He hopes it never comes.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he’s being both young and stupid – he’s barely turned seventeen, Even’s his first boyfriend. Isak _knows_ the clichés, knows he’s the exact personification of the naïve child thinking they’re all grown up now, but he doesn’t _feel_ young _or_ stupid. He feels like he’s in love.

He tips his head back, the duvet warm underneath his head, but his body is slumped too languidly for him to actually move or do something about it. It’s soft, at least, and Isak lets the remaining bit of the day’s sunlight warm his face.

The door slams shut. Isak hums happily when he hears Even call out his name, still not moving from his spot, but he tilts his chin a bit more pointedly when he feels Even’s presence in the doorway.

Even laughs, practically bounds over to him and leans down to kiss him.

“ _Halla_ ,” Even grins between kisses, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the line of Isak’s jaw.

Isak reaches up to tug Even’s mouth back to his and ends up mumbling his own greeting into Even’s mouth. It mostly ends up as nothing more than a hum, and then Even hums back, so Isak hums again.

Even’s warm. Isak can feel it radiating off of him, like he’s the actual sun and he’s the reason why Isak is being bathed in gold and feels so loose and happy. He smells of his cologne and a hint of sweat from a long day working in this heat.

Isak tightens the grip he has on Even, kisses him harder at the happy little noise Even makes. He never wants to let go.

They do part, though, after a little while. Even starts telling him about his day, about how far they’ve gotten and how he got to chat with the director for a couple of minutes before the guy had been whisked away to deal with an issue.

He’s sitting by Isak’s desk, had gone there when Isak had moved his stiff limbs up onto the bed. His laptop is open and his body is angled weirdly so he can look at both Isak and the screen, but mostly just ends up facing the window. He’s finished regaling Isak with stories from his day, sitting there in silence for now as he tries to find something he’d been working on and had wanted to show Isak.

The sun isn’t quite setting yet, the summer days too long for it to be that late yet, but it’s started its descent and Isak knows the light will soon fade behind the tops of the opposite buildings.

Right now, though, the sun hits Even beautifully. Had it been anyone else, Isak would’ve felt weird for staring so much. It being Even, though, he can’t tear his eyes away.

He looks good, Isak notes the way you always do when realizing something you already know about someone you see every day yet are suddenly reminded of. He looks ethereal. He looks like the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Isak.

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen.

He’s just so fucking happy, so fucking in _love_ , and he never ever ever wants it to end.

“Marry me.”

It slips out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch on. He doesn’t want to take it back, though, so he just waits with baited breath for Even to say something, anything.

Even’s gaping at him, the look of surprise evident, but Isak had hoped there would’ve been a slight twinge of happiness or excitement there too – he hadn’t ever counted on Even looking _sad_.

“You don’t want that.”

“I do,” Isak insists. He wants to reach out and squeeze Even’s hand, but he has a feeling if he moves closer to Even, Even will pull back and flee so he just lies there.

“You don’t,” Even whispers. There are tears threatening to leak out of the corners of his eyes and Isak’s breath hitches.

He didn’t mean for that to happen. He never meant for… for Even to –

All of it doesn’t come down crashing on Isak, crushing him in the rubble, but bits and pieces do crack apart, and suddenly Isak _does_ feel both young and stupid.

Of course Even wouldn’t want that. It’s – it’s not necessarily too _soon_ – they’ve known each other for ages by now, have been together for just as long pretty much, and they’re basically cohabiting already with brief intermittence of Even having to leave to keep up appearances with his parents that he definitely does not have a boyfriend and that there definitely isn’t an Isak in Even’s world, like there isn’t an Even in Isak’s.

Isak had just thought –

He doesn’t know what he thought. Or, he does know, but being in love isn’t always enough to warrant that kind of proposal.

He just _proposed_. Holy shit.

He should’ve taken more time, more care. Even’s a romantic, he broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress Isak and get his attention, he likes big gestures, and here Isak is blurting it out like he’s asking what Even would like for dinner. He should’ve gotten a _ring_ – although there are a lot of questions if even that would be a good idea given their _situation_.

Maybe – maybe that’s it. Maybe Even does want to get married, he just doesn’t want to get married to _Isak_.

Isak doesn’t doubt that Even loves him, that’s not it. There’s always a nagging thought at the back of his mind when Even tells him that he does, that it would be easier for Even if it was someone else, but Isak is selfish and he _wants_ Even.

It’s just that there are easier people out there for Even to love, and it would be cruel of Isak not to realize that.

Maybe Even wants someone he can do the big gestures for, that he can show off, someone he can put a ring on their finger and not have to worry about pronouns and nouns and them just being the wrong gender. That person isn’t Isak, and Isak can’t ever imagine being that person who so light-heartedly can do that.

It doesn’t make it hurt less. And it doesn’t explain why Even said _Isak_ couldn’t be the one to want that.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Isak mutters. His cheeks are burning, and he simultaneously can’t stand to look at Even, but he also can’t stand to look away, so he ends up switching between glaring at the wall behind Even and lowering his eyes to the floor, wishing for it to swallow him up. “Just – never mind. Forget it. Don’t mind me.”

 _Stupid, young, and a fucking idiot_.

“That’s not –“ Even’s voice breaks, his words sound thick and like it’s a struggle to speak past a lump in his throat. “That’s not what – that’s – _Isak_.”

“Forget it,” Isak repeats. He almost wishes he was wearing a sweater, despite how bad the heat already is around him, just so he could curl up and hide away. God, he never should’ve opened his stupid, _stupid_ mouth. “It was – it was dumb. You wouldn’t – let’s just –“

“ _Isak_ ,” Even breathes out, sounding just as lost and heartbroken and Isak doesn’t _understand_.

It _is_ fine if Even doesn’t want that, no matter the _why_ , but _Isak_ doesn’t understand _why_ it makes Even react like that.

“That’s not –“ Even tries again, but he doesn’t get further than he did last time either. “ _You_ don’t want that. It’s not me – it’s. Isak, _you don’t_ want that.”

The panic is still threatening to overwhelm him, to swallow him up whole until there’s nothing else left, the flight or fight instinct just too present a reaction to the _hurt_ that’s also threatening to overtake him.

But that – that just doesn’t make _sense_. Isak wouldn’t have _asked_ if he didn’t want that.

Obviously, _now_ he’s having second thoughts, but not because _he_ doesn’t want to be with Even forever and ever, as it seems like Even is insinuating, that is tearing him apart to insinuate.

“Why –“ Isak shakes his head as if it would clear his mind of all unwanted thoughts and make him able to think rationally once again. It doesn’t work. “Why do you think that?”

“Because –“ Even’s hands are shaking. “Because I never should’ve gone over to talk to you.”

Isak’s stomach _drops_. Along with his heart. And his entire body. He feels like he’s weightless, floating around like nothing at the same time as he feels like he weighs a metric ton. What – _what_?

“You deserve _so much_ better,” Even’s struggling to get the words out, sounds like his throat is too thick. There are tears starting to gather in his eyes. “Always, _always_. You – you deserve _everything_ , and I –“

He cuts himself off. Isak doesn’t feel like he’s present in his own body, feels like he’s forgotten how to open his mouth and use his words to shout _you,_ you _are the one who deserves everything_.

“What are you talk-“ Isak manages to get out, though it sounds wrong and not like it’s him who’s speaking. Even cuts him off before he can finish.

“I’m bipolar.”

He says it like it’s the answer to everything, everything bad, that is. It’s –

Isak honestly doesn’t know what to think. He _always_ knows what to think, always has a thousand different thoughts running through his head, either knowing everything about anything or wanting to find out everything about anything. Now, there’s _nothing_ except Isak’s growing panic as _bipolar_ repeats in his head.

“They’d just finalized the diagnosis, and I –“

Even licks his lips, tries to buy himself time, but time for what Isak doesn’t know. Even looks like he’s just finalized his own death sentence, and that everything that comes out of his mouth past this point isn’t an appeal but his final words, his last chance of redemption before a new life.

“I just had to get out of there. I just left – the hospital and my parents. I just had to get out of there. Scared the shit out of everyone,” he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. It sounds wrong when someone is as close to crying as Even is right now, like it’s less of a laugh and more or a sob. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Isak’s bottom lip is quivering. He tries to bite down on it to make it stop, but that just makes it seem like the entirety of his face is shaking.

“And I saw –“ Even cuts himself off, sniffs and shakes his head at himself. “I should’ve left you alone, I know that, because you – but you were just –“

He laughs. It’s not an amused laugh, sounds more self-deprecating and sad and desperate than anything else.

“You were lying in the dirt in the middle of the night, cursing up a storm about how the pictures you were taking of flowers _in the middle of the night_ were turning out shit, and –“

Even’s eyes are wet, but he looks impossibly softly at Isak when he finally meets his gaze. Isak thinks he might be crying too, or at least is close to it.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Even confesses, so quietly Isak nearly can’t hear it, but he does. He hears it. “And I should’ve just left you alone, but I’m _selfish_. It was like – like you were _magical_ , like I was in a movie and you were what everything had been leading to.”

Isak wants to reach out to him, wants to run his fingers over his skin, let his hands curl around his cheeks, but he knows Even will draw back if he does that.

He also isn’t certain he could actually manage to do it as it seems like his entire body has stopped working, including his heart, and his lungs, and his _mind_ , because there’s only one thing continuously whispered, _bipolar, bipolar, bipolar_.

Isak doesn’t know a lot – _anything_ – about bipolar disorder. Knows the obvious or just the stereotype, maybe. He figures he could probably see hints, looking back, should’ve maybe noticed the hints way back then. Thinks that Even ranting about other people invalidating his feelings, about the tight smiles when Isak would tease how multiple sleepless nights would naturally end with him conking out for days on end, should’ve been enough to tell Isak that _something_ , that not everything was what he’d been led to believe, that there was more to the story.

Maybe Isak should be scared. He’d spent ages trying to help his mother, been there when she wasn’t well and things were so shit he just wanted to _scream_.

But this isn’t his mother. It’s _Even_ and Isak is so unbelievably in love with him.

“I’m glad you came up to me,” Isak blurts out before he’s really thought it through. He doesn’t regret it, though. He squares up instead, stares directly into Even’s eyes and keeps his back straight.

Even’s lips are pressed tightly together, and he has that pinched look to him that tells Isak he’s about to argue with him, probably ask if he hasn’t heard a thing he’s told him, but Isak doesn’t let him.

“I don’t tell you how to feel,” Isak reminds him, has to swallow when he sees the stricken look on Even’s face. “And you don’t tell me how to feel. That’s how we work.”

He lets the ‘ _right?_ ’ hang unspoken in the air, but Even still nods in agreement as if he’d said it out loud.

“And I’m telling you,” Isak has to swallow – for how steady his voice sounds, he feels incredibly shaky, “that if you thought meeting me was something magical, then me meeting you was a _miracle_.”

Even’s shaking his head again, looking ready to argue, but Isak won’t _let him_. Not with this, never with this.

“I was barely alive, back then,” Isak tells him. Even knows _some_ of this, has probably gathered enough from what Isak _hasn’t_ told him, all the blank spaces left unsaid and untold but with enough given to hint _why_ they’re like that. “I was just waiting for each day to pass until one day I’d finally get to _live_.”

Even _knows_ what he’s leading up to, Isak can tell that he knows. That he’s already heard the ‘ _you were what made me finally feel like I was living and not just surviving_.’

“You saved me,” he insists. “And that’s how we work. What happens after you save me?”

Even shakes his head. His eyes are teary, and his lips are pressed together tightly. “Isak –“

“What _happens_?”

Isak feels the sigh Even emits all the way inside his bones, feels how it makes him heavy. Such a startling contrast to how light Even’s reply makes him feel.

Even’s voice is quiet, so, so quiet, Isak nearly doesn’t hear him. “You save me back,” is said softly, kindly, _lovingly_ , but also tinged with a sadness that has Isak forget everything but utter hopelessness.

He refuses, though. Not when Even _knows_ what he’s saying, what he’s trying to tell him.

“You would’ve felt like that anyway,” Even argues, is still minutely shaking his head. He’s frowning, but Isak thinks it might be to stop himself from crying. “Eventually. You still would’ve gotten to feel that.”

“I would,” Isak agrees, because _theoretically_ , he probably would’ve. “Eskild gave me a lot. Maybe I would’ve started to feel it when I started at university. Maybe I’d only start feeling it once I got a degree and started working. Maybe I’d meet someone and fall in love and that’s when it would start.”

It’s such a foreign thought, that he could ever fall in love with someone who _isn’t_ Even. Even also looks a bit like the thought of it is breaking his heart, even if it’s one of the points he’s trying to make; that Isak would be alright without ever having had Even in his life.

“But nothing would ever feel like how I feel, right now, and have felt all this time, with you.”

Even still doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he also looks a bit like he _knows_ , because that’s how _he_ feels too, so it feels a bit impossible to argue against it, like it’s a moot point.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Isak admits, doesn’t clarify what _it_ is, there’s no need. “And you know me – I’ll go on a research bender, and I’m going to drive you insane with it, so you’re going to have to tell me when to stop.”

Even doesn’t look pleased at the prospect of having Isak interrogate him, but he does nod curtly.

Isak digs at the skin around his nails, picking at hangnail until he’s nearly bleeding. It doesn’t make it easier to gather his thoughts, but Isak doubts anything would be helpful.

It feels a bit like someone’s swept the floor out from underneath him. He feels dizzy from it, feels like he’s lost the center of his gravity, which is _stupid_ , because it’s still just _Even_. Nothing has changed, nothing important, but still –

Isak _knows_ there are a lot of things neither of them talk about. Their entire _relationship_ is founded on lies and secrets that’s always been more of a security blanket than whatever this feeling swirling uncomfortably around in Isak’s stomach is.

It’s not like he has told Even _everything_ there is to possibly know about him, but he knows the important parts, and Isak – Isak just hadn’t realized they were apparently also keeping secrets from each other.

He doesn’t _blame_ Even, that’s not it. On a scale of secrets this one is huge, and it’s not like Even isn’t _allowed_ to keep secret, it’s more that.

That Isak thought Even trusted him.

Finding out he doesn’t, doesn’t feel very nice. It feels absolutely horrible, in fact.

“What are you thinking about?”

Isak has never heard Even sound like that; small and insecure and maybe even a little afraid. Isak _scares_ Even, and Isak also doesn’t know what to do with _that_ , what to do with anything.

“I –“ he tries to swallow through the lump in his throat. It nearly gets caught instead and breathing feels even harder to do afterwards. “I just – why didn’t you tell me?”

Even looks small, sitting there on the desk chair. He feels miles away from Isak and that doesn’t feel good. He’s never seen Even look small, he’s always been larger than life, even when he was quiet and sleeping for an entire day – _crashing_ , Isak reminds himself – Isak’s heart had always felt so full and overwhelmed whenever he looked at him.

“I still didn’t know what to think about it at first, when I met you.” Even when talking, Even is quiet. It’s awful. “And then, later, I kept telling myself you had to know, that it was only fair, but I – I didn’t want to lose you. And then you told me about your mom, and how that was why your parents were always fighting and that’s why you left, and I couldn’t –“ his voice cracks when he breaks off.

Isak’s jaw is clenched. Blood trickles out from his hangnail when he accidentally digs too hard.

“It’s not the same.”

Even doesn’t look like he believes him, but Isak doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s the only thing he keeps thinking – that it’s not the same, because it _isn’t_.

“It’s not,” he repeats.

“How?” Even looks resigned, and Isak would’ve thought he would sound _tired_ , but for the first time ever that Isak has heard, Even sounds _bitter_. “How isn’t it the same?”

“Because I don’t blame you for being ill, how about that?” Isak snaps. He can feel years upon _years_ of anger and resentment and _shame_ welling up to the surface, and it’s making something ugly inside him want to crawl out, want to lash out at everyone around him, when that _really isn’t_ something Isak wants to do. “I’m not _ashamed_ of you being bipolar. It’s not some ‘character flaw’ that I’ll do my damndest to avoid because it would be _inconvenient_ for me. I wouldn’t make the people closest to you lie about it just to avoid the social consequences of _associating_ myself with you.”

Maybe it’s not entirely fair. Maybe there’d been lots of other shit going on between his mom and dad that Isak had never bothered looking into, because everything else was already too much and he wouldn’t be able to handle _one more_ thing piled on top of the rest.

He’s not ashamed of Even. He’ll never be ashamed of Even. It sounds like a lie, considering the great lengths they go to, to keep each other a secret, to keep _them_ a secret from the rest of the world, but that’s not Isak being ashamed of _Even_ – no more than it is Even being ashamed of Isak.

“Maybe it will be,” Even points out stubbornly. His cheeks are flushed red and he’s staring straight into Isak’s eyes, but it’s like there’s something between them, something clouding Even’s eyes and twisting his mind until he can build his walls up again and protect himself from Isak. “Next month, next year – you don’t know you won’t resent me for sticking around.”

And Isak –

He wants to scream, wants to _cry_ , both wants to prove he’ll never be like his father and _abandon_ them, but at the same time wants to just _bail_ , and _that_ just makes it worse. He feels the fury inside him and wants to let it out, to show the world just how much can go wrong in a relationship and how much things going wrong can _fuck_ someone up.

But Isak also knows this isn’t Even talking. Or – it _is_ , but it also _isn’t_ , because this is Even protecting himself from when shit will hit the fan, so that he isn’t caught off-guard, so he won’t end up in that doctor’s room again with pitying and worried looks constantly thrown his way until he’ll feel like he’s suffocating.

“It’ll happen,” Even promises, so sure and with certainty in his voice, that Isak wants to cover his ears and scream to block out all the noise. “I’ll hurt you, I know I will.”

In this moment Isak does feel incredibly young and a little out of his depth, but he doesn’t feel any less in love. Of all the uncertainties floating around his head, _that_ isn’t one of them.

“You don’t know that.”

Even huffs, not believing him, and Isak is _tired_. He’s tired and he’s going out of his mind and he _still_ wants to never let go of Even, so he gets off the floor and strides over until he’s standing right in front of Even.

The room feels so much darker now compared to when Even had first gotten here, greeting Isak with a kiss and stories. God, that feels like hours, days, ago, not twenty minutes.

Even looks smaller like this, him sitting and Isak standing, but also from his shoulders hunching and body curling in on itself as he _tries_ to convince _Isak_ that he’s better off without him.

“No, you don’t know _shit_ about that. Maybe _I’ll_ be the one to hurt you – did you ever think about that, huh? Maybe neither of us will hurt each other. At least not so badly we can’t fix it.”

Even opens his mouth probably to protest, but Isak is _done_. Done with all the hypothetical scenarios and _what ifs_ of all the ways they can go wrong.

He wants to focus on the ways they can go _right_.

By _slowing down time_. He curls his hands around Even’s jaw and tilts his head back so he can’t avoid looking him the eyes. They’re impossibly blue and shiny from the wetness threatening to spill over the edge. Even when he’s upset like this and clearly wants to hide from the world, from _Isak_ , Even accommodates him, lets him maneuver him into facing him.

“Why don’t we, just, take it completely chill,” Isak whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along the line of Even’s cheekbone, “and we stop worrying about all that. Life is now, and so all that matters is, like, the next minute.”

“The next minute?”

 _God_ , Even is usually the one to say cliché things about how Isak is his baby, is his boy, and in this moment can’t help but be reminded how reciprocal that feeling is. Isak’s gorgeous, beautiful boy with a heart of gold and future bright and full of dreams.

Isak nods. “The next minute. That way we don’t have to worry about all the ways things can go wrong.”

Even sniffs. “Because even we can’t manage to fuck up irreparably within a minute?” he jokes, but Isak hears everything past the lighthearted tone, hears the worries and the anxiety and the guilt and shame and the _hope_.

So Isak smiles softly, continues rubbing his thumb and doesn’t comment on it when a catches a trail of wetness. Then he lets Even hide his face in his t-shirt, his forehead digging into his sternum.

Isak cards his fingers through Even’s hair, bends down far enough that he can press tiny kisses to the back of Even’s head, to the top of his neck.

“Sorry,” Even sniffles, not really crying but also not- _not_ really crying. He’s still hiding away, so Isak just hums soothingly, only stopping when Even starts repeating himself. “Sorry, I – I should’ve told you, I know. I’m so sorry, that was – that was so fucked up of me to do. I should’ve come clean the second we started getting serious, I should’ve let you know –“

“Okay,” Isak just says, because he doesn’t want to tell Even he understands why he didn’t say anything when he’s only certain he partly knows why Even didn’t tell _him specifically_ , and he’s also not going to lie and say he doesn’t feel fucking confused and slightly hurt at Even not telling him.

In hindsight it does explain a lot of things; the sleepless nights, the moments Even went from geared one day to little more than lifeless the next time he’d see him, the surge of text-messages to the bare minimum. Jumping from one project to another without finishing any or become hyper-fixated on one and working on nothing but.

Isak doesn’t realize why he hadn’t paid attention to it before – or, maybe he had, just a bit, felt that at times Even’s behavior was slightly off, but he never really went as far to think that – It never seemed natural to assume _that_.

“Breathe,” Isak reminds Even softly, the fingers on one of his hands moving down to trace the line of Even’s throat, running along his pulse. Even with the light touch Isak can feel it’s beating too fast. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

Even’s breath rattles when he lets it out. It feels warm and damp through the light material of Isak’s t-shirt, makes his already sticky skin feel clammy with it, but he just presses another kiss to Even’s hair.

“Is that what we’re doing for the next minute?” Even asks, speaking slowly to not make it as evident his body is still thrumming on the remains of adrenaline and panic, making him short of breath. He doesn’t sound mean about it, though.

“Yes.”

“And the minute after that?”

Technically, that’s against the rules, but Isak isn’t up for reminding Even of that.

“The minute after that,” he tells him instead, “we’re going to kiss.”

“That’s chill.”

Isak exhales amusedly at the irony.

“That’s chill.”

OOOOO

“Do you think,” Even wets his lips. Isak can’t tell if it’s a nervous tick or to just draw out time. “Do you think there’s a universe where I’m not like this? Where I’m easier to deal with?”

Isak’s throat tightens. He wants to _cry_.

It’s in the middle of the night, but Even is still lying awake next to him in bed. Eskild and Linn have long since gone to bed, Isak and Even did too, and they really should’ve fallen asleep by now, but they haven’t.

“It’s not like I’m easy to deal with either,” Isak reminds him.

Even scoffs, moves as if to turn to his side, turn his back to Isak, and Isak _can’t_ have that. His hands fly out underneath his own body so quickly he slaps Even’s shoulder in his hurry to grab onto his t-shirt.

“I’m _not_ ,” he insists. Even’s still lying on his back and he’s not actively struggling against Isak’s hold that he doesn’t yet dare loosen. “There are probably _hundreds_ of universes out there where – where you won’t have to hide behind closed doors to be with me, have you thought about that? Where I’m – where I’m a girl, or you are, and there’s no reason for all of this _bullshit_. Or maybe there’s one where no one would bat an eye at the both of us being boys, where we wouldn’t have even stumbled over the thought.”

Isak moves one of his hands up from Even’s shirt to lightly stroke against the hair curling at the nape of Even’s neck. It’s more awkward than anything, but that’s because it’s the arm he’s lying on and not because Even is resolutely staring into the ceiling, refusing to look at Isak.

“Maybe there’s one where I don’t give you a reason to leave.”

Isak shrugs, tries to calm down his absolutely _pounding_ heart. “You haven’t given me a reason to in this one.”

Even scoffs again, but he doesn’t try to move away from Isak. Small wins.

Isak doesn’t know what happened to make Even so certain people, _Isak_ , will leave him because of this. He figures maybe it had something to do with those boys that he’s occasionally seen him with by accident, when they’re reminded of just how small Oslo really is and that despite meticulous planning, they can’t always avoid running into each other in public.

Even talks about them, sometimes, and Isak has always been desperate for every single bit of information he can get of Even’s life – the part of it that Isak has never had access to, anyway – so he feels like he already knows the entire group, but… the way that Even talked about them always made him curious. It made it seem like they were his long-lost friends, not people he saw every single day up until they graduated together back in June.

Even doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, what he’s obviously close to saying, only holding himself back to avoid an argument, to avoid revealing his soul to such a terrifying, vulnerable degree, even if it’s to Isak. Or maybe because it’s to Isak.

Isak knows what Even wants to say. He wants to say that he’s already given him a reason, and if not then they just have to wait for a major episode, or maybe just a small one, and then Isak can see there’s a reason to break this off.

But _this_ isn’t something Isak wants to break off, not for any reason. Reminding Even of that, though, wouldn’t mean anything to Even who won’t let himself process it, won’t let himself belief that it’s true, that there’s still hope for them, that they can still _be_ ‘ _them_ ’, so Isak changes tactic.

“Maybe there is one where I leave. Hell, maybe there are multiple universes where I leave you.”

Even’s not breathing next to him. Isak can make out his eyes in the darkness, but he can’t tell if they’re shiny from unshed tears or completely dry as Even remains stoic. He doesn’t seem it, though. He seems to be feeling the exact same emotions as Isak; frayed and like someone is unpeeling him bit by bit until he’s exposed for the world to see with nothing holding him together.

“But not in this one.”

Even draws in a deep breath. It sounds shaky.

“In this universe, I stay with you. In this universe, I choose you.”

“This feels like therapy,” Even grouches, but he’s still looking at Isak with that _look_ that always serves to make butterflies swirl around inside of him, even if it’s a little withdrawn and Isak can still tell that this isn’t, that they aren’t okay yet. “I _hate_ therapy.”

Isak can’t help but grin shyly. “Pretty sure it’s not therapy until you start paying me.”

It startles a bark of a laugh out of Even that comes out a little too wet. “You expecting me to pay you, now?”

And it’s fun, because acting like this with Even is _always_ fun, but this, this right now, is Even talking around the subject.

“’Fraid I only accept boyfriend payments,” he says carefully, watches with heavy heart as Even stops smiling and starts looking ready to argue again.

Isak _hates_ having to make him stop smiling, but it’s _necessary_. They _need_ to do this, can’t just let it hang in the air. They do this with everyone else; talk in half-truths and leave things unsaid and just entirely in secret, but not with each other. Even knows _everything_ about Isak, and Isak had thought he knew everything about Even, too. He’s not angry to find out he doesn’t – confused, a little, maybe a lot, hurt, but he’s not angry.

He probably would’ve been, had he found out any other way, if Even had never confessed to it, if he’d just left it unsaid until one day Isak would find out when either everything was going to shit, or it was just too late entirely.

Even must come to something close to the same conclusion, because the fight leaves his body, and when he starts talking, he answers Isak truthfully.

“I have…” he hesitates before continuing, “almost a sort of love-hate relationship with it. To it?”

“How come?”

Even tries to gather his thoughts, figure out what to say, how to explain. “I hate how it makes me feel, how out of control everything can seem. I like being the one who can decide things and it – it takes that away from me.”

Isak blinks. “And the – the other part? The love part?”

Even wets his lips nervously. “I hate feeling sick,” he says. “I hate how it takes away any feeling of control. I hate how it makes other people look at me like I’m weak, like I’m breakable.”

Isak waits. Allows for Even to let it all out.

Even’s breathing heavily, not quite panting for air, but it’s irregular and mostly superficial. Isak doubts he’s actually getting any air in, but at least he’s not panicking.

“But, if I hadn’t had that appointment, if I wasn’t ill,” Even adds, “I wouldn’t have left my parents’ side that night.”

Isak tilts his head to the side, a slight, confused frown pulling down the right corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have gone to Birkelunden, and I wouldn’t have met the cutest boy I’d ever seen, lying on his stomach in the dirt, trying to get a picture of a flower.”

Isak flushes, as he always does when Even talks about him like this, squirms with a bit. It’s almost like he can feel Even’s heart beating in tandem with his own; a little too quick and a little too hard.

It’s impossible not to feel it, and feeling it so strongly makes it impossible not to say something.

“I still want to marry you,” Isak whispers into the darkness.

It’s the first time Even’s stayed over for the night since he told Isak. Isak has spent the past hour just about debating whether or not he should say something before he just went ahead and did it anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t push these things. A lot of the websites spoke about needing a stable environment and avoiding stress factors, and Isak has this nagging thought in his head that this entire thing they have going, this – this sneaking around and keeping secrets from everyone in their life, having an entire secret _relationship_ , everything that _Isak_ is to Even, is quite a big stress factor.

But he doesn’t want to leave this hanging in the air, not like he’s done with so many other things. This should never be something he grows to regret not saying, and it shouldn’t be something Even should worry about was legit or not.

Even is tense next to him. It sounds like he’s holding his breath, and Isak can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or from waiting for Isak to continue or if he gearing up to argue.

The latter, Isak fears, because Even still has that _look_ in his eyes, the one that says he still fully believes everything he said about how he was too selfish and that Isak deserves _more_ , when Even to Isak already is _everything_.

“I know you’re probably thinking – hell, you’re thinking too much to keep up with, but you’re definitely thinking I’m only saying it because I said it before and now I don’t want to admit to it being a _pity_ thing, but that’s –“

Isak cuts himself off, shakes his head, not harshly enough the bed shakes, but he can hear how his hair shifts against the pillowcase, causing crinkling noises that fill the sudden silence.

“I don’t know how to convince you it’s not,” Isak admits instead. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m so in love with you that I never want you far away from me, that I can’t imagine having to live a life without you. I can’t think of anything other than telling you, again and again, as many times as it takes, but I also don’t know if that will ever be enough.”

Even swallows loudly next to him. He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what that means. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“If you really don’t want to marry me, then I’ll never mention it again,” he promises. “But if the only reason you have for not wanting to marry me is because you think ‘ _I deserve better_ ’, then I’m going to ask you again. I’m going to ask you every single time I can’t believe I could possibly love you any more than I do in that moment.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, wants for Even to say something, to reply, to just let him _know_ – something, _anything_ , that Even is ready and willing to give him.

It makes it easy to hear how Even tries to control his breathing, tries to keep it slow and heavy, make every inhale deep, all the way down into his stomach. He hears it every time Even opens his mouth only to close it again. Until he finally manages to get some words out.

Isak expects – maybe he doesn’t quite know what he expects. A rejection, maybe, denial about everything Isak just said.

No matter what, he does not expect, “Move in with me,” to be what comes out of Even’s mouth.

Isak blinks. Doesn’t really matter in the darkness, but he still does it. Blinks again, even. “Huh?”

The sheets next to him crinkle as Even shuffles around to face him. Isak is gaping in his direction, he knows, but it’s too dark to see anything besides his silhouette.

“Move in with me,” Even repeats, voice deep and slow.

It’s almost like how he usually sounds when he’s close to falling asleep or just waking up, but he’s neither right now. His voice is steady, he sounds sure in himself, while Isak feels like he’s stuck on a rollercoaster.

“I’m serious,” Even says when Isak just keeps on _staring_. “Move in with me.”

Like Isak was questioning how _serious_ he was. He’s been working really hard to not let _those_ parts of the websites influence him, refuses to see Even as a _child_ in need of a firm hand to keep him safe, but this kind of question feels so horribly impulsive the thought is the for a shameful second before Isak manages to kick it out again.

“A place just for the two of us,” Even starts painting the picture as beautifully as everything else he does. “We won’t have to sneak around, won’t have to wake up at crazy times just to avoid getting caught. You could finally wear my clothes without worrying, I could get to cook you breakfast.”

Isak’s heart is starting to pick up its pace again, for an entirely different reason now.

“Think about it,” Even prompts. “You said that Noora’s coming back from Spain soon, that’ll be one more person to sneak around, plus there aren’t enough rooms. You’d still have your safety net – you’d still have Eskild to fall back on. We could only put my name on the lease so you wouldn’t have any obligations if things fall through.” If _they_ fall through, Isak knows that means.

“We’ll have to anyway, you’re the only one out of the two of us who’s turned eighteen,” is what comes out of Isak’s mouth instead. Holy shit, he keeps thinking, feeling, maybe, too. _Holy shit_.

Even lets out a startled laugh that’s too loud for the hour, but Isak is feeling too shaky in the best of ways to shush him. Even clamps a hand over his mouth himself anyway, tries to smother his giggles behind fingers and the duvet. He sounds every bit as much of the _holy shit_ being continuously repeated in Isak’s head.

“Are we really doing this?”

Isak feels like his feet have been swept off the ground, feels like he’s floating, flying around. It doesn’t feel scary, though. Not when he knows Even’s there, ready to catch him.

“I’m serious about you,” Even whispers once he’s gotten his laughing fit under control again. “Always. And always want to be. And I want to marry you, want to get married to you.”

Isak’s heart _tha-thumps_ loudly in his ears as he waits for the ‘ _but’_.

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I never want you to regret anything.” _This, me, us_.

It’s every bit the _but_ Isak was expecting, fearing, but it’s not the worst _but_ he’s imagined hearing.

“The same goes for you, you know,” Isak reminds him. He grabs Even’s hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes. It somehow feels more intimate than a kiss would’ve. “I never want you to regret choosing me either.”

It’s in the middle of the night on a hot summer’s night, and Even’s eyes are sparkling even in the dark and his thumb is rubbing along Isak’s hand in small circles, and Isak is in _love_ with him and discussing _their_ future _together_. He hopes fervently that in every single universe out there, there’s an Isak and Even who find each other, and that there isn’t a single universe where there’s an Isak stupid enough to leave their Even behind.

“I won’t,” Even promises.

‘Forever’ suddenly seems impossibly short when Isak will get to spend it with Even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/622298516413415424/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _let's get some plot going, shall we?_
> 
> Meanwhile, this is the third longest chapter in the story, hope you enjoy it xx
> 
> Also! ....... _cue [redacted]_

**_ Present _ **

Isak squeezes his eyes shut and counts to five in his head.

He’s dreaming. He never got up this morning, never left the apartment for uni, didn’t get a glimpse of the headline of this morning’s gossip when he decided to treat himself and took a detour to get a coffee. He’s lying in his bed at home, dreaming – or actually having a nightmare because this is a _fucking nightmare_.

A woman passes him when he fails to respond to her prodding if he’s waiting in line. He can’t open his mouth, can’t use his voice because he’s not there, he’s at home in bed, _having a nightmare_.

The magazine is lying innocently on the counter, discarded from whoever had sat there, leafed through it and then didn’t find it interesting enough to take with them when they left. He takes a step forward towards it and picks up the paper. Behind him people fill up the space he’s vacated, and a distant, dissociative voice in the back of Isak’s head tells him he can kiss that coffee goodbye, as if it _matters_ when his _world_ is falling apart.

He opens his eyes again, but the headline hasn’t changed. The surprisingly well-taken photo of Even at some red carpet event, and the not-as-flattering paparazzi shot of Even wearing too big of a jacket, cap and dark sunglasses and generally looking rundown haven’t changed. It’s all right there in front of his eyes, and no matter how hard he rubs at them until they tear up, it’s still there. It doesn’t go away.

**_Even Bech Næsheim’s secret marriage?_ **

_A.k.a. Hollywood’s so far best kept secret! The director behind the absolutely phenomenal award winning movies ‘_ Hold Your Breath _’_ _and ‘_ Save You Right Back _’ along with nominated_ ‘Circles’ _and several short films, Even Bech Næsheim, has never been particularly public about his private life. For nearly a year, he’s been rumored to be in a relationship with fellow Norwegian, Sonja Teigen, who currently works for Næsheim as part of his management team. Lo and behold, Næsheim’s need for privacy was because he might already be married! Rumor has it records from the Norwegian achieves mention our young talent in a marriage certificate, dated on the 21 st July 2017. There is currently no word on the whereabouts of said certificate, and no name has been mentioned as to whom his s.o. is, nor has there been an official statement from Næsheim himself –_

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Isak wretches himself away from the paper, dropping it into a puddle of spilt tea on the floor as he trips over his own feet, nearly smashing his head into the wall. There are startled yells from all around him, people dodging him and grumbling about how he’s just interrupted their oh-so-busy day when Isak is having a _crisis_.

He leans back up against the faux-brick wall. It’s cold against his back, even through his coat, and it’s slightly damp too from condensation and leaves him feeling clammy and uncomfortable. He’s panting and can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the paper slowly being soaked through until the ink smudges, leaving the letters runny and pictures smudgy.

But not so indistinct that he’s unable to see Even’s name and face splattered all over the _front page_.

 _Fuck_.

OOOOO

It’s on the news. It’s on the news and it’s _everywhere_ and it’s _everywhere on the news_ and it’s on the news everywhere, because that’s a thing Even is, internationally famous and everyone seems to care.

Everyone’s all like, “ _Even Bech Næsheim is married!_ ” and “ _Ooh, who’s the lucky girl?_ ” Meanwhile, Isak is sitting on his bed, crunching on stale cheerios without milk because none of them are functioning adults who go grocery shopping when they don’t have any left, wearing the same shirt he’s been wearing the past three days, feeling just about absolutely disgusting, but he doesn’t have the energy to actually do anything about it.

He hates feeling like this.

He’d felt like this the entire first year of university before he had gotten his shit together at the last minute of second semester, and now he’s right back to where he started.

Isak can’t remember how he got home from the coffee shop. He knows he skipped the lecture and the tutor session, because once he’d started paying attention to his whereabouts again he’d seen the slew of messages from Sana, exuding sarcasm and passive-aggressiveness, but still with a hint of well-meaning concern that Isak doesn’t have the wherewithal to think about.

He’s missing chunks of time, which is – concerning. The knuckles on his left hand are bruised and scabbed over in small chunks, and it hurts a bit to hold his bowl of cereal, but he’s too hungry to not eat and too anxious to eat at the kitchen table. There’s a similarly stinging red line that looks as if he’s gotten whipped running across his arm, nearly all the way from his wrist to the crook of his elbow,

Probably from a bush or something, Isak had tried to console himself at two a.m. last night, when he’d been running cold water over it to soothe the pain. He did have a habit of lashing out when everything he’d bottled up just became too much and he exploded.

At least he hadn’t managed to get himself into a fight, like Mahdi had thought when he’d gotten a glimpse of Isak’s hand, because even as out of it as he must’ve been, Isak never would’ve tried to land a punch with his non-dominant hand.

There are so many emotions running through Isak that he can’t figure out left from right. They rush through him quicker than he can think, than he can _feel_ them. Anger, hurt, anxiousness, exhaustion – so _fucking exhausted_ , and constantly, _constantly scared_.

He’s so fucking scared, and he’s tired of being scared and tired of feeling like a bruise that’s constantly being prodded at. An open cut that’s not left alone for long enough to heal. And he knows part of that is his own fault, because he’d spent nearly an entire year after Even had left consuming his body mass times a hundred in alcohol, too busy deflecting and wallowing in his own misery to actually _process_ what the fuck had just happened.

It just – it had been too _scary_ to actually realize that this was _it_. That had been _it_. He’d gotten to have Even for nearly three years and that had been _it_ because Even was _gone_ , had fucking _left_. It had been easier to stare at the bottom of whatever bottle was the closest, to not focus on anything other than the dizziness of the alcohol and not the dizziness of his world being torn apart, turned upside down, and life and time continuing to move on without him.

And now he’s paying for it. Well – Isak would argue he’s been paying for it ever since, but there’s been a good period, however small, where Isak had actually thought things were turning around, that while he didn’t get to have Even, he got to have _this_ ; a home, a group of friends, a science degree. It hadn’t been what he’d originally wanted for himself, because _Even_ had been a major part of that, but it was _something_.

And now he’s always one step from fighting with his friends. He can’t look any of them in the eye. He can’t _sleep_ , can’t relax, can’t stop being so _fucking scared_ constantly and it’s _exhausting_. He’s so scared of everything – of messing up what isn’t already broken with the boys, of slipping up and giving _it_ away, of everyone _knowing_.

This article, this _goddamn piece of writing_ , somehow feels as bad as _actually seeing Even_ in person for the first time in _years_ had at Mikael’s party.

It would’ve been different had it just been a trashy magazine or some gossip site, but it _isn’t_. Yes, it’s celebrity news, but the entertainment reporters don’t just publish anything that’ll blow up by headline alone. That just makes it _worse_ because people _believe_ it, and that means Isak is _fucked_.

Or – potentially fucked, he has to constantly remind himself. Because he hasn’t been mentioned by name, and unless Even’s been unable to keep his mouth shut no one knows who Even’s married to, at least not anyone not on Even’s payroll. There hasn’t even been any indication that it’s supposed to be someone from Norway, that it isn’t some pretty actress Even’s worked with and this is all about _her_.

It does very little to comfort him. Probably because _he knows_ who it’s about.

Going through the comments is like stomping through a minefield. There’s a multitude of theories.

Some who, thankfully, believe the entire ordeal to be fake.

Then there’s some who are going through a long list of celebrities Even worked with in his early days that maybe, if you skew the timeframe a bit, could fit.

Then there are those who are firm ‘ _Even x Sonja_ ’ advocators.

And then there are the ones who actually scare Isak, because they’re close enough to have figured out it would have to be someone from before Even blew up, and there’s no point in listing big names who realistically would’ve never come across Even or paid attention to him. It would probably be someone Even knew from before he started to get the recognition his work deserved, and they would therefore never be able to guess who it was.

None of the theories contemplate the possibility that it might not be a girl. _None_. Not one. Isak can’t tell if that’s a relief or another point of anxiety.

It’s not like he really has a _right_ to be bitter about this entire ordeal. He’d _known_ that he was telling Even to ‘ _go ahead and live your dream!_ ’ and he’d fully meant it, too, he’d wanted _everything_ for Even, he just –

He hadn’t been aware that at the same time, he was telling Even to ‘ _go ahead and leave me behind!_ ’ Maybe he should’ve known, should’ve picked up on the clues, if there’d really ever been any.

Maybe he had been living an illusion. Maybe Even had wanted to leave for a while. Maybe it had never meant as much to Even as it had to Isak. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Rationally, Isak knows none of those are the case, but Isak is also not really capable of thinking non-irrational thoughts at the moment – not when he’s clutching an empty bowl of what had been dry cereal, afraid to leave his room in case one of the boys are there.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he knows. He shouldn’t feel so horrible at the thought of taking up space, of subjecting people to be around him. He shouldn’t be feeling so scared all the time that he’ll occasionally slip into terrifying numbness when his brain just can’t handle the cortisol overload anymore.

 _He can’t do this again_ , Isak hisses to himself. This was supposed to be _his goddamn year_ , and instead it’s going to absolute _shit_ and Isak has had _enough_.

He doesn’t know where the bout of fury comes from, but it sears through him like fire, swallowing up everything else, and he’s jumped off his bed and pulled his door open hard enough the handle slams into the wall before he can _think_ and listen if anyone else is home right now.

The cold wash of dread barely quenches the burning hot anger, only enough that his body is still too pumped but now his mind is racing along as well.

Because they’re _all_ home, and Isak knows he is fucked up, that he hasn’t been sleeping well – or pretty much _at all_ \- since that goddamn, stupid, _stupid_ party at Mikael’s, and that he’s lost time stressing over some _fucking article_ , but – he’d just had breakfast, aren’t they supposed to be… not here?

“It’s the only thing that makes sense!” he hears Magnus cry out.

Isak stands there completely frozen, rooted to the ground. If they haven’t heard him having a _tantrum_ , then maybe he can just go back into his room and stay there until he’s made _sure_ no one else is home like a non-idiot would do.

His feet don’t move.

He hears Mahdi snort, “Sure thing,” which makes Jonas laugh. And Isak wants to go back to his room, back to hiding, but…

He also wants _that_ , wants it to be easy to laugh with the boys again, easy to fit in seamlessly instead of feeling like he’s intruding or standing on the sidelines. He wants things to not be so hard anymore. _This_ was supposed to be _his year_.

He takes a step forward, is close enough to the kitchen now that if one of them walks over to the fridge and turns around they’ll see him.

“It _is_!” Magnus stresses insistently. “Just think about it – Sonja is the only person he’s been seen with _consistently_!”

And Isak is _frozen_ again. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“What does _that_ matter?” Mahdi laughs. “He’s never even been seen holding her _hand_. ’ _Consistently_ ’. What does that even _mean_?“

“But if the guy is hiding his marriage, he’s not exactly going to be holding _anyone’s_ hand, is he?” Jonas points out. Isak hears a thump that was probably Mahdi attempting to kick him. Isak can hear Jonas’ feet skittering over the floor, and then another thump as he leans into the counter. Isak can see his arm, his shoulder, a little bit of his side. His heart is _pounding_.

“Then what is the point with any of it?” Mahdi cries out.

“ _That_ is the point!” Magnus insists. “He won’t be doing something so obvious, but it’s not like he’s got his wife hidden away in his basement either, is it?”

“Well, _technically_ –“ Jonas says, more to be a smartass than actually thinking Even could be a creep, but Magnus still makes a noise of absolute outrage. Isak can’t even be bothered by ‘ _his wife_ ’.

“ _So_ –“ Magnus interrupts loudly, “– it’ll be someone he’s been seen with more than just at some work-related press, and Sonja is the only one that fits the bill!”

“But,” Jonas point out diplomatically, “she _does_ work for him.”

Magnus grumbles. “Yeah, but it has to be someone he’s been seen with.”

“Why?”

 _Why, why, why,_ and _it isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t_ , and _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ are the only thoughts Isak seems to be able to think. He can still see parts of Jonas, can register the danger of it and how much he wants to go hide in his room, but he can’t make his feet move and he can’t tell that his heart is beating at all, that it’s actually _pounding_ away inside his chest.

“He’s _married_ , which means he’s in love with someone enough to _get married_. He won’t have just left them behind while he goes gallivanting around Hollywood, would he?”

 _He won’t have left them behind, would he? Would he, would he,_ fucking _would he_?

Suddenly Isak isn’t numb anymore. He isn’t anxious. He’s fucking _furious_.

He’s stomped the remaining feet to the kitchen before he can think it through. It’s a sunny day – he hadn’t been aware, having drawn his own curtains several days ago and not opened them since, but out here in the kitchen, with the big bay window providing the light source in the room it’s difficult to ignore.

Isak doesn’t know why that’s what makes him freeze up again, even with the anger still boiling through him, but it’s always done _something_ to him, some kind of dissonance between his own life, his mind, and the world turning around him.

They’re all staring at him; Jonas cautiously and Mahdi contemplatively. Magnus is the only one who doesn’t immediately look withdrawn at his entrance, but still as enthused as he’d sounded.

“Hey,” Jonas says, sounding like he’s consciously attempting to sound as normal as possible. He frowns at the bowl in Isak’s hands. “You’ve had breakfast? I didn’t hear you.”

Isak doesn’t know what time it is, so he doesn’t know what Jonas is trying to say, so he just walks over to the counter instead, fiddles with the dishes already in the sink so he can place his bowl there without everything toppling over.

God, what a mess. Isak can’t even tell if he’s thinking about the sink or himself, or maybe he just won’t admit that he can.

It’s obvious he’s in a foul mood if Mahdi doesn’t dare poke fun of him or talk about his bruises, but that doesn’t deter Magnus in the slightest.

“Did you hear?” Isak doesn’t turn around to look at him, but he can hear the chair shuffling around as if Magnus is actually bouncing in his seat like an overeager child. “Isak, did you hear about –“

“ _Yes_ , I’ve _heard_ ,” Isak snaps, doesn’t even have it in him to feel guilty. Not by his own conscience or the one Jonas is trying to mentally force upon him with his perpetual frowning. “ _Gratulerer_ , whoop-de-fucking-doo.”

There’s a plate half-soaking in the sink that’s perilously close to tipping over or spilling the water onto the counter. Isak probably spends a full minute just staring at it as the boys resume their conversation behind him.

“I still can’t believe it,” Magnus shakes his head. Something flips in Isak’s stomach uncomfortably. He tries to convince himself it’s because of Magnus switching so quickly between sounding ecstatic and sounding incredulous at the news.

Mahdi makes a sound like he’s more amused with the situation than anything, and it almost makes Isak _more_ annoyed with _him_ rather than Magnus who, _apparently_ , won’t let him catch a goddamn break.

It’s incredibly difficult to keep his focus on the plate, to not register _Even, Sonja, married, married, married_ they keep going over, and over, and _over_.

“I mean, sure, they’ve always had that ‘ _will they, won’t they_ ’ vibe, you know? Or, more like ‘ _are they, aren’t they_ ’ I guess, if you want to be technical about it. But _this_ – that he’s supposed to be _married_ to her?” Magnus worries his bottom lip as he contemplates it. “I can see it, though. Even looks good with someone smaller than him – not that that’s difficult given his 10 foot legs alone – but someone cute, blond.”

Isak stills, everything inside him shutting down. It feels like he’s trapped underwater with everyone else still on the shore and he can’t get back to them. He feels paralyzed, the sounds around him muffled but still intelligible, which seems like a curse in itself. _Someone smaller than him, cute, blond_. He tries to get rid of the unwanted flashes of himself, of Even, of him and Even. Someone smaller than him so he can fold himself into the curve of his body, someone blond, hair colored like liquid gold in the setting sun to make up for the lack of gold rings on their fourth finger.

Isak wants to _scream_ , wants the images to get out of his head, to get out, get out, _get out_.

“Oh, the typical Norwegian look, like yourself?” Mahdi teases, wiggling his eyebrows and laughing when Magnus makes flustered, high-pitched noises.

“ _No_ , but – can’t you see it? It’s like, like they just _fit_ together, that he fits with someone like that.”

 _They just fit together, someone smaller than Even, someone cute, someone blond, someone who fits_ – Isak hadn’t fit. He hadn’t fit so Even moved on without him, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like Magnus is talking about _Sonja_ anymore.

There’s no way he can know, Isak doesn’t think, even though they know that Even knows Isak, there’s no way, they can’t think that – that _Isak_ – but it still feels like they _know,_ and instead of just _telling Isak_ they know, they’re playing this backwards game to ridicule him, to make fun of the one thing other than Eskild and these three boys that Isak had been so fucking proud of, that he’d worked hard on only to have it crumbling in his hands like everything else.

He can’t even _look_ at Magnus, Mahdi, or Jonas, afraid to see the cracks he knows are there, that he knows are growing bigger and bigger the less he tells them, the more he lashes out, the more secrets they can tell he’s keeping, the more they _know_ , until the gap between him and them is too big to cross.

“Isak, what do you think?” Magnus asks, and Isak doesn’t have to turn around to know what he’ll look like; all wide-eyes and puppy-eager, and it’ll only serve to send Isak straight to _fuming_ instead of the pure rage flooding through his veins.

“I don’t give a shit,” he snaps before he can control himself. His hands are shaking minutely, and for some reason he only hopes the boys don’t notice that instead of focusing on something actually important like if he’ll have any friends by the time he’s pulled himself together.

They all fall disturbingly quiet. Isak’s fucked up, he _knows_ he has _fucked up_ , but he can’t, he fucking _can’t fix_ –

“Don’t you have a lecture by now, anyway?” he asks out into the room, not really directing it at anyone as he’s completely bullshitting it anyway. He hasn’t got a clue what time it is and he’s spent so much time stuck inside his own head he can barely remember their schedules let alone his own.

Magnus is the one to react, checking his phone, then swears loudly and trips over his own legs are he hurries to get out.

Jonas is frowning so hard it looks like his eyebrows are one, long, bushy line on his face. The slam of the door behind Magnus’ hurried goodbye isn’t enough to disturb Mahdi’s silent judging or Jonas’ slightly annoyed concern.

“The fuck’s crawled up _your_ ass?” Mahdi asks, not as harshly as Isak flinches.

Fucking, what _hasn’t_ crawled up his ass, but he can’t say that, can’t tell them that. He can’t explain, doesn’t _want_ to explain, doesn’t want them to _know_ , but it’s all too fucking much and he can’t keep it in. He’s about to _explode_ , can feel all the resentment that’s been stored inside him for _years_ bubbling away, seconds from boiling over.

The guilt and the shame work like layers of ice, keeping everything contained. The resentment just makes him want to cry.

This was supposed to be _his_ year, and instead it’s turned into – into… _this_. Whatever the hell _this_ even is, anymore.

“Nothing,” he mutters when it dawns on him both Mahdi and Jonas are waiting for him to say something. “Not a single thing."

Mahdi snorts. “Sure doesn’t seem like it either.”

“What, some guy decides to get married and suddenly it’s _my_ problem?” he snaps before he can keep it down, immediately regretting the momentary loss of control.

The silence that settles over them is heavy, the quiet before the storm. Jonas doesn’t say anything, but his displeased eyebrows give him away. Mahdi is less shy about remaining nonverbal.

Isak can _feel_ it building, whatever Mahdi, usually so chill Mahdi, is about to say – all until Jonas clears his throat, signaling something to Mahdi that Isak doesn’t want to think too much about the implications of.

 _Don’t cry, don’t yell, don’t piss anyone off, please_ , he repeats to himself in the tense silence that follows.

The kitchen chair scrapes against the floor when Mahdi gets up. “When was the last time you got laid?” he asks, not viciously, but too taunting to be friendly either.

Isak remembers when the last time he ‘ _got laid_ ’ was, despite wanting to forget; remembers how Even had been slow, had been moving so slowly Isak could feel every inch of him. Remembers how Even hadn’t been able to stop touching him, be it his fingers, hands, lips, and Isak had been just as bad, clutching on to him, holding him close with legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his shoulders, hands moving tenderly to let Even know how much he loved him. Remembers how they’d both been crying at the end, because Even was leaving for America the next day and neither of them wanted to finish, wanted the moment to end and go to sleep, even as Even had an early flight and probably should be sleeping now to not fuck up his schedule too much.

It hadn’t been the last time Isak had touched Even – touched _properly_ , not just bumped into his back and getting the biggest shock of his life – hadn’t even been the last time he’d talked to Even without being so _fucking mad_ at him.

Mahdi shoulder-taps him gentler than Isak thinks he deserves but enough to get him out of his head. “Get yourself out of whatever funk you’re in.” It’s an order, not friendly advice, and then he’s gone as well.

Isak is still holding the bowl like a goddamn idiot. He can’t seem to let go of it, though.

He can feel Jonas’s eyes on him. Can still feel Mahdi’s eyes, Magnus’ eyes, the eyes of every single person to comment on that stupid, _stupid_ article that it would’ve been someone Even knew from before he got famous. It sets off an… _itch_ that doesn’t go away, that only grows bigger and bigger the longer he stays still.

“Why are you so mad?” Jonas stares at Isak quizzically, not even looking particularly bothered beyond the concern evident on his face. It makes Isak’s hackles rise. “Is this about the party? We _did_ say we were sorry we forgot to tell you – and you could’ve just invited someone, even if it was last minute. I thought you had fun –“

“I don’t _care_ about the _stupid_ party,” Isak snipes. He wants to hurl his mug at the wall, wants to shout and stomp his feet and he wants to fucking _cry_. “I _care_ that _apparently_ _none of you_ know how to respect other people. Seriously, didn’t we have _rules_ about not doing _this_ shit?” he asks, gesturing to the full sink. “And being fucking respectful when living with other people, which means not being loud as fuck when someone’s trying to sleep?”

He’s breathing harshly, still clutching at the bowl, which Jonas eyes pointedly. He doesn’t for a second buy that _that’s_ what’s bothering Isak, that they woke him up when he’s clearly been awake for several hours. That there isn’t some bigger thing that means he comes home with bruises, that he blows up on everyone around him without them deserving it, that’s he’s a trigger away from blowing _himself_ up if he has to hear Even’s name again. That he isn’t so fucking fucked up that they never should’ve asked him to be their fourth roommate, that they should’ve just rented his room out and let Isak stay in student housing.

And Jonas is still just _frowning_. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“And you can’t – huh?” Isak flounders, still in the middle of his movement until he’s standing frozen, holding a dirty bowl in mid-air and looking like an idiot.

“Have you been sleeping alright?” Jonas repeats, like _that’s_ the problem, like Isak hadn’t heard him.

Isak snorts. He feels cold, feels clammy, feels like he can hardly breathe half the time and his body is shutting down on him in retaliation for the lack of oxygen he provides it.

“Fucking dandy,” he mutters, drops the bowl into the sink so it clatters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean _have_ you slept?” Jonas isn’t moving closer. He also isn’t moving further away, but it’s his _presence_ that’s stifling, it’s having someone so close, _too_ close, and Isak _can’t_ have _anyone_ get _too_ _close_.

“We’re in uni,” Isak deflects. “None of us are sleeping. I found Mags the other day asleep on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge when he went to get a snack in the middle of the day.”

Granted, Magnus had gotten gloriously drunk the night before and had still been more tipsy than hungover at the time, which isn’t exactly comparable with Isak’s anxiety-induced insomnia.

It should’ve been enough, though – would’ve been enough if Isak was talking to Mahdi or Magnus, or if just either of them had been here right now and he hadn’t managed to piss them off, but Isak is talking to _Jonas_ , and Jonas is _stupidly_ observant and stubborn when he wants to be.

Isak _really_ doesn’t want him to be like that right _now_ , though. He _can’t_. He’s so close to freaking out already, so close to just _losing_ it he’ll _actually_ go insane if he has to deal with Jonas’ questions on top of everything else.

Jonas gives him a _look_ that he hasn’t been fooled and he hasn’t been deterred despite Isak’s best effort, but it’s also a _look_ that Isak can’t interpret. He can’t tell what’s _behind_ it.

Is Jonas angry? Disappointed? Worried? Isak can’t _tell_ , and it’s freaking him out that he can’t tell and it’s freaking him out _why_ he can’t tell, because despite his completely self-destructive behavior when they’d first met, Isak had instantly clicked with Jonas, like they were long lost brothers. Every look, every twitch of his eyebrow, Isak knew what he wanted to say.

He doesn’t know _now_. He wants to claw his own skin off his body with his nails, wants to be able to _breathe_ , but he _can’t_.

Whatever Jonas had been hoping to silently emulate or guilt Isak into admitting himself, Isak never finds out because Jonas _gives up_.

He sighs, shakes his head, and now Isak can definitely tell he’s disappointed, but with a hint of _something more_.

“Just –“ he makes a frustrated sigh. “Magnus loves the guy, why can’t you just –“

What? _What_? Why can’t Isak just _what_? Why can’t he just let Magnus worship the ground Even walks on? Why can’t he just play along? Why can’t he just love Even too?

He doesn’t feel angry anymore, doesn’t even feel defensive, not to Jonas, anyway. He just feels tired and a bit like he wants to cry. Feels like this is a nightmare he’s just waiting to wake up from.

Jonas turns to face him again. Isak doesn’t wake up.

“Don’t go at Magnus’ throat just because of whatever’s going on.”

It’s friendlier than Mahdi’s ‘advice’, but still too harsh to be embracing concern. It’s an, ‘ _I’m close to having had it with your bullshit, whatever it is that’s going on, fix it_.’

Isak doesn’t reply. He’s too busy bounding out of the kitchen, leaving the dishes as they are, close to falling over, and locks himself in his room, panting for air he can’t seem to breathe.

He still feels their eyes on him. It makes his skin crawl.

OOOOO

Isak has got 18 unanswered texts from Sana, steadily growing more and more sarcastic, bordering on mean, although Isak can’t tell if that’s actually what Sana intended or if he’s at this point so fucked up he can’t distinguish the two from each other anymore.

It’s _fucked_. He’s fucked. He’s the master of sarcasm, but right now his heart starts pounding when he grabs a hold of his phone, so he’s left it in his pocket on silent so he doesn’t feel the vibrations of people trying to reach him. Not that he knows anyone other than Sana who trying to do that, given how much he’s _fucked up_ with the boys and hasn’t worked on getting any other friends because he has Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus.

 _Had_ Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus, a traitorous, self-deprecating voice inside his head whispers. Isak can’t listen to it. Not now, not when everything else is so fucked.

He’s technically supposed to be coming back from a lecture now, instead of having just left his apartment. Jonas had looked at him weirdly but hadn’t said anything when Isak all but fled the place at the wrong time, heading in the wrong direction.

He’d gone to the lecture yesterday. Or, he’d sat through half of it. Sana had partly bitched him out when he first showed up, scolding him leaving her hanging the day before. Isak had distantly taken all of it, barely feeling anything and only snapping back at Sana because that’s what they did and she’d been a second too close to seeing through him. Then the lecture had begun, Isak hurrying to shush Sana when she’d gotten ready to demand knowing where he’d been and what he’d been doing with those bruised knuckles of his.

Usually Isak likes lectures. He learns the best like that, by being taught the theory, even if their professor is rather dull, ignorant-bordering-on-racist, and most of the guys taking the course spend the forty-five minutes-to-an hour and a half staring at her ever present nipples visible through her shirt.

Isak obviously doesn’t care about that. Instead he spends the time leaning back, taking notes. They’ve got actual upholstered chairs in the lecture hall, much to everyone’s delight, which it normally _is_. It’s just this day, today, that it doesn’t feel like hiding away.

He and Sana always sit in the back, simply because they like it, unlike everyone else who sits in the back to be able to chat and gossip with whoever they’re sitting next to. Usually it doesn’t bother Isak who’s used to studying around Eskild, whether physically there or over the noise of the Lion King soundtrack being blasted, and he lives with three other guys – quiet isn’t the norm. It’s easy enough to tune out senseless squabbles and focus on the actual thing Isak wants to learn about.

But not today.

Today, his heart rate picks up every time he hears Even’s name, every time he hears about a certificate, hears the word ‘ _married_ ’ or any variation thereof.

Once the break comes between their double-module lecture, he’s out of his seat and trying to fly out of the door before Sana’s grabbing onto him, asking what’s wrong.

 _Too many fucking things_ , he wants to _scream_ but he doesn’t. He doesn’t do that, he never does. He blows up about everything these days, he thinks, the constant irritability and short fuse also wearing him down to the bone as much as everything else is, but he’s got no outlet, no way to let off the steam, and letting it out once it’s boiled over doesn’t help either, it just leaves him exhausted.

Then again, what would he even say? That he fell in love? That it wasn’t with a girl? That it was with a boy who ended up becoming world famous – so famous that having been married was considered sensational news? That Isak had fucked up, that he _was_ a fuck-up?

He can’t say any of that, so he doesn’t say anything. He steps out of Sana’s reach and walks out. He gets several text messages while the break is still going on, only tapering off fifteen past when the lecture must’ve started again.

It feels like he can’t escape from it. Everywhere he goes, it’s either about Even, about the article, or it’s about Isak being a total asshole to everyone close to him, and he _can’t_ –

He can’t look them in the eyes without feeling like shit. He’s so scared, he’s _constantly_ scared and it’s wearing him down, tearing him apart and revealing his bones to the world.

It had been a threat back in the day, getting outed without his permission, back when he and Even were still – when they –

When Eskild could’ve walked inside his room at any time, no matter how much they’d try to limit Even’s time there for when no one else was supposed to be home. When they were outside in the world, not even touching, but just a look between them could’ve been more telling than Isak actually jumping Even in the middle of the street. When he could’ve accidentally blurted out the wrong thing, the last hint as to what the fuck was up with Isak.

It’s not like Isak hadn’t been aware of all of those things, but Even had _left_ , had left with a big wad of papers, and Isak had actually figured that if he just kept his mouth shut, he’d never have to be afraid of _that_ again.

Fast-forward a couple of years and there’s a stupid article, a stupid _published_ article, telling him the biggest ‘ _fuck you_ ’ there is to tell, and the fear is back with a revenge on a much, _much_ larger scale than Isak has ever been afraid of before.

So knowing all of that, knowing what happened, feeling his throat close in on itself at the thought of anyone finding out, Isak can’t look his best friends in the eyes, and it’s fucking him up.

He almost got in a full-blown fight with Magnus, _Magnus_. Magnus who internalizes everything the worst out of all of them, who’s so oblivious but too kindhearted to ever call someone – _Isak_ – out on their – _his_ – bullshit.

What he needs is a way to _fix_ this, but the _how_ is rather evasive.

It’s not like he can go back in time and redo everything. It’s not like he can delete the article, and it’s not like he can sue for defamation of character or any other bullshit line like that. But those are the only two options his brain comes up with to make everything go back to normal. Isak just _really_ wants everything to go back to _normal_.

He doesn’t _want_ for things to be this hard, he doesn’t _want_ feel like he has to hide in his own home, to hide away in his room so none of the boys look at him too hard, for too long. If you’re looking for something, you’ll most likely find it, Isak knows, and that’s when his brain comes up with a third non-viable option.

Proving his non-existent straightness would definitely get anyone off the trail. Isak can’t even remember the last time he pretended to hook up with a girl, can’t remember the last party where he didn’t just stand near the booze once the boys had partnered up.

It’s honestly _something_ that they still make fun of Magnus for not having any game when _Isak_ is the one who hasn’t been with anyone since his first and only boyfriend.

He just needs _something_ to keep them from thinking along those lines.

 _Something_ comes in the form of the short-haired first year Isak accidentally full-body bumps into when rounding the corner, sending her coffee flying to the ground, the thankfully only lukewarm liquid splashing up against Isak’s shoes and the hem of his jeans.

It’s probably foreshadowing of how this is a _very bad idea_ , but Isak has never been great at ignoring very bad ideas. The entire reason why he’s in this mess, case in point.

“Watch where you’re going!” Emma shouts before noticing who she’s just yelled at. Then she gets positively _more_ pissed. “Oh. It’s _you_.”

Isak can’t help the wince. It’s not really about Emma, not when it comes down to it, but it’s easier to pretend that it is.

“Yeah,” he says apologetically, staring forlornly down at the cup still slowly spilling out coffee onto the street in waves. He bends down to get it to throw away properly. There’s a little bit of coffee left at the bottom. “Sorry. That was – I should’ve looked where I was going. Sorry.”

Emma’s lips are snapped tightly together, her jaw clenched. Isak’s heart is beating, and he _wishes_ it was because she’s near him. It would’ve made everything _so much easier_ if that had been the case.

Isak’s life isn’t easy, though, and he knows his heart is beating too fast from the guilt and shame mixing together at the thought of what he’s about to do.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” rushes out of him before he can change his mind, just apologize again for the coffee and walk away like he’s _supposed_ to do.

Emma sighs like it’s a hardship, but she also doesn’t walk away, and Isak hates himself a little bit for keeping her intrigued.

“You see, my roommates were being a bunch of assholes and had a party without telling me about it.”

She keeps her face blank; a perfectly disinterested façade in anything Isak has to say. He sees right through it, knows she wants that explanation and apology.

“And I was supposed to invite this really cute girl from first year,” he grins at her, careful to not seem too cocky but also like he’s interested. It works, despite the dark circles underneath his eyes and his hair probably being greasy to all hell, seeing as he can’t remember the last time he took care of himself. “Except a lot of people crashed the party and it all turned into madness. And I probably should’ve just called that girl then so we could go out somewhere else, but then I ended up having to clean most of the night so we didn’t lose our deposit.”

He sees it working, sees her softening around the edges. Isak feels a bit sick with himself.

“And then the next day, I was going to call her and apologize, but then things kept coming up, and now it’s just been _too long_ , you know? Like, what can I even say that she would believe?” he shakes his head self-deprecatingly, like what Emma thinks of him is all that matters to him. “So, what would you say? If you were me and had to apologize to this brilliant girl?”

She flushes, keeps her eye on her coffee cup in Isak’s hand.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, looking up. She shrugs as if she’s above all of this. “Sounds like you’ve been a real asshole, so I don’t know what you could say to make it better.”

Isak hopes his grin manages to hide the grimace. “If it’s any consolation, things haven’t exactly been great on my end, either.” Shit, did he sound too bitter? He feels it, can’t help but thinking of all the sleepless nights, the worrying, the constant _fear_ , that stupid, life-ruining article.

Yeah. ‘ _Not great_ ’ doesn’t quite cover how fucking shitty Isak’s life has been for _years_ , let alone the last month.

Emma hums. “You know, that _does_ help a _little_.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but he makes sure to smile at Emma, and Emma smiles back at him, albeit faux reluctantly.

It’s a bad idea, even by Isak’s standards. Emma’s given him psycho-vibes from day one, seeming to be exactly the type of person who clings on to you until you’ve been smothered to death. That’s probably not fair of Isak, to be honest, and it’s also not fair of him to pretend he’s interested, that he’s not just being nice for the sake of being nice.

But he still feels Jonas’ eyes on the back of his neck as he’d made his escape back into his room. Can feel Mahdi’s and Magnus’ eyes on him, can feel every single person he’s ever met judging him silently for what has happened, and Isak wants to _cry_ with the feeling of it, but mostly he wants to hide. He wants everything to go back to how it used to be. He wants to _not_ feel like actually working on himself to make this _his year_ should be so hard.

It’s silly because there’s absolutely no reason why anyone would suspect _Isak_ of being the one secretly married to world-famous movie director Even Bech Næsheim, but Isak’s brain keeps going in circles how Even recognized Isak at the _public party_ , and Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus all know that _Even_ knows _Isak_. Were he rational about this, he’d realize it’s too big of a leap to be realistic, but he _isn’t_ being rational about this right now.

Plus, it doesn’t help anything seeing as Isak actually _is_ the one Even is secretly married to. Was secretly married to – shit, he needs to stop thinking like that.

It’s _such_ a bad idea, but he literally feels like he’s got everyone eyeing him up, seeing right through him, through the lies, and unless he gives them a reason to look away, they’ll find out. They’ll _know_.

“Let me make it up to you,” blurts out of his mouth before he can convince himself it’s better to just walk away, that this won’t solve anything. He winces internally as Emma lights up, trying to downplay it to seem coy.

“How?” she asks instead of agreeing, even though Isak knows she will.

“Want to get a cup of coffee?”

Emma lights up, beaming happily at him and holds her arm out so Isak can link them together if he wants to. Isak doesn’t want to. He gets out of it by waving his arms around frantically, asking overdramatically which coffee shop they should head to, because there’s one in either direction. One advertises with being incredibly eco-friendly, but the other was much cheaper and better suited for poor students –

By the time they get their coffee, Emma seems to have forgotten everything about having ever offered Isak to casually, publically-appropriately, touch her, which makes it a little easier to breathe. If it weren’t for how Isak is using her for whatever equivalent of ‘street-cred’ this is supposed to be to ensure no one thinks he is anything but _straight_.

Emma seems perfectly at ease with Isak already, which makes Isak feel like a dick. She genuinely is funny to hang around; not too afraid to get sassed or be sassy in return, although she’s a bit insecure about it.

Thankfully, she’s confident enough to keep the conversation going when Isak sees which coffee shop they end up at.

He usually avoids this one, takes detours to make sure he never goes near it. Which is stupid, _Isak_ is being _stupid_ , but this –

It feels like it’s _everything_ that’s working against Isak, and now Isak is on something he imagines Emma thinks is a date with a _girl_ , and everyone knows Even’s been married and is theorizing about the ‘ _who_ ’-part, and he can’t look his best friends in the eyes, he can’t walk around campus because he keeps overhearing snippets of people’s conversations when they’re about Even, keeps pissing Sana off with his erratic behavior and snappy replies, and it’s this _fucking coffee shop_.

He almost tells Emma he wants to leave, wants to take a detour to a different coffee shop, or just buy her something else entirely, even as his bank account is already screaming at him at the prospect of buying anything more expensive than coffee.

But he won’t be able to explain to her _why_ he wants to leave, not anything she’ll believe anyway, and he’s only just managed to get her _un-pissed_ at him.

So he resolutely doesn’t stare at the window seats. Does think back five years to a very different first date – a date that had _actually been a date_ to both participants.

They order their coffees, waits for them at the counter, Isak keeping his back to the window, focusing on playing around with some sugar packets. Then he steers Emma towards the back of the shop, towards a square table where they’ll have to sit opposite each other.

He just didn’t count on Emma sitting down with her back to the front entrance. Crap. It’ll be too forward if Isak were to scooch over on her side – not for Emma, but for _Isak_ , who is already leading Emma on more than he’s comfortable with – and he doesn’t know how to ask her to switch sides.

Isak’s hand shakes when he sits down. He curls it into a fist, and then places it on his thigh underneath when that doesn’t look appropriate.

Just keep looking at Emma. Don’t look at anything else, not slightly to the left where the two tall chairs closest to the door are angled towards each other, like Isak and Even had just left, like it hadn’t been literal years since they sat there together.

She’s easy enough to talk to. Isak asks her about her major, learns she’s studying journalism, and that she recently moved in with two of her friends after breaking up with her ex-boyfriend, who Isak knows through Jonas and Mahdi was a model more than a handful of years older than them.

Isak is still feeling too anxious to sit still, so he ends up rushing through drinking his coffee. It’s still too hot and his tongue feels uncomfortably numb afterwards. It’s also a bad idea, because the caffeine goes straight into his system and leaves him wired.

“They’re doing a special showing of ‘ _Circles_ ’ at the old cinema,” Emma circles one finger along the rim of her glass. “Have you seen it?”

Isak’s heart pounds for all of the wrong reasons. He can’t, he _can’t_.

“Yeah,” Isak laughs like it’s as easy as breathing is supposed to be. “It’s pretty much constantly on at our house.

“Are you a fan, then?” she looks excited, like it’s all going according to her plan and Isak realizes what he’s pretty much just implied.

“Nah, not at all, actually. Magnus is the fanboy, talks about Næsheim and all of his movies constantly, pretty much always hogging the TV to play them. He’s been on a ‘ _Circles_ ’ craze ever since it’s been nominated – I’m getting so sick of it, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Emma says, looking taken aback and Isak thinks he should feel bad about it – or at least _worse_ , but all he’s feeling is relieved that she probably won’t ask him to go with her now.

Isak should probably be making some excuse as to why he needs to leave soon. Honestly, this had been a stupid idea and Isak is pretty sure it isn’t even helping anything.

Unfortunately, it takes longer for Isak to come up with an excuse than it does for Emma to recuperate.

“You know,” she grins widely at him, “since Magnus is such a big fan, I’m sure I know how to get him an autograph.”

Play the ‘getting along with your friends’ card, smooth. Isak blinks a bit too long just so he can roll his eyes without her seeing it. “You know Næsheim?”

Emma flushes a bit as she shakes her head. “No,” she admits, looking down at her mostly empty coffee again.

Isak plants his feet on the floor and moves to push his chair back so he can put away his trash and start to get out of there when Emma cuts in, “But I know Sonja?”

Isak freezes from where his hands are curled around the edge of the table, his back hunched uncomfortably, but it doesn’t even come across his mind to change position. “ _You_ know _Sonja_?”

It comes out sounding way too rude, but Emma is grinning widely like he’s acting astonished rather than impudent.

“Yeah! I ran into her a couple of weeks ago. I think you were there as well,” she hesitates, like she has to consider if that sounds a bit too creepy or stalker-ish, before she carries on, “some party? You left early.”

Isak had left early because he had run into Even. Does Emma know that _he_ knows Even? He remembers her now, how she’d been dancing at the other end of the room and Jonas had been goading him into going over there to talk to her. Shit, Isak has spent so long trying to erase that entire night from his memory that he’s forgotten other things he really can’t afford to.

“She had to leave early, apparently Even left without telling her, which,” she takes a breath, “honestly, is quite a shitty thing for your boyfriend to do to you.”

Isak fights not to wince. He’s pretty sure it isn’t even directed at him, but he knows he’s done it in the past – not the boyfriend part, but the mosey-up-and-get-close-and-tease-for-something-more-only-to-turn-around-and-leave part, definitely one too many times.

He tries to convince himself that _that_ is the part he’s wincing at, and not that Emma just implied what Isak should’ve figured was true, but has spent so long denying.

“They’re actually dating, then?” flies out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Shit, he shouldn’t have asked. Not only is it _none of his fucking business_ what Even is or isn’t doing – and that includes _who_ – but Isak isn’t sure he actually wants to hear the answer.

Emma looks a bit confused, but she’s also smiling teasingly. “Thought you weren’t a fan?”

Isak’s insides feel like ice as he tries to grin back smoothly convincingly enough. “Does that mean I’m not getting a quote from an ‘inside source close to the star’?”

Emma rolls her eyes as she leans back in her chair, but she’s still smiling so Isak figures he did well enough.

Not that he can really focus on it – not with his mind is frantically screaming, _are they dating, are they not dating, are they dating, are they not dating?_

Emma shrugs playfully. “I can tell you…” she draws out, “they seemed close, at the very least.”

And Isak laughs like he’s in on the game while all he can think is _what the hell does_ that _mean?_

“We’ve been messaging a bit back and forth,” Emma continues like she doesn’t notice the war raging on inside of Isak. She probably doesn’t – isn’t supposed to, so if she doesn’t it means Isak is at least doing _something_ right. “She’s really great, actually!”

“That’s nice,” Isak’s voice comes out too quiet, but at least it doesn’t deter Emma who continues jabbering on, not noticing that Isak isn’t actually paying attention.

 _Sonja’s great_. ‘ _That’s nice_ ’ both is and isn’t very fitting, but Isak doesn’t know what to think, what to make of any of this. Shit, he should stop going over it, all it’ll do is put him in an early grave.

“I don’t think she’s the one Even’s married to, though, loads of people don’t, actually, it got debunked the fastest out of all the options,” she continues, but Isak doesn’t really hear any of it. “Did you hear about that? Apparently, it got published without any warning. Sonja seemed quite stressed about it the last time I talked to her.”

It keeps on repeating in his head on an eternal loop. _Sonja and Even, Even and Sonja_. His blood is rushing to his head and he can barely focus on looking in Emma’s direction, let alone pay attention to what she’s saying.

“That’s nice,” he mutters, doesn’t even notice the odd look Emma throws in when it _obviously_ doesn’t fit in with what she’s talking about.

Emma leans in closer. “Are you alright?”

Isak –

No. He isn’t alright. He’s not alright on so many levels, and he can’t tell anyone. Doesn’t want to tell anyone, really, and _especially_ doesn’t want to tell Emma.

“I’m fine.”

It’s a mechanical answer. Isak doesn’t even have the energy to make it sound slightly believable, but either Emma just doesn’t care or he sells it well-enough, because she launches into a new conversation topic and leaves Isak behind in the last one.

“And then Maria said –“

“Actually,” he interrupts, not even sure _what_ he’s interrupting but doing it anyway, “I’ve kind of got a study meeting in a little bit.” He doesn’t. Or maybe he does, he doesn’t know what day it is, knows Sana’s been blowing up his phone before finally having had it with his lack of answers, but that might as well have been about his no-show for lectures and tutorials these past few days.

Shit, is that suspicious? The news that Even’s married drop and Isak goes on lock down? Will anyone, let alone _Sana_ , believe in ‘correlation, not causation’? Fuck. Fuck, he should pull himself together, before it’s too late and things will get _really_ shitty.

“Oh,” is the only thing Emma says, but she looks disappointed. “Let me walk you –“

“No, it’s okay,” Isak hurries to say. “It’s out of your way; it’ll take ages for you to get home. We can pick this up another time, alright?”

He shouldn’t have said that. He’s a terrible person, and he’s a terrible person for thinking that Emma is both eager and _convenient_ , but he _needs_ this. Needs the cover, needs the excuse or explanation or whatever else in case everything comes tumbling down over his head.

She looks mollified enough at that, smiling again when Isak shuffles on his jacket and pushes away from the table.

It isn’t any easier to not look towards the window.

Emma remains sitting, keeps her eyes on him. Isak tries to make it casual that he isn’t looking at her, instead shuffling with a used napkin he puts in the pocket of his jacket, pushing his chair all the way in, apologizing when he accidentally bumps it against Emma’s foot.

In the end there’s no other excuse to not say a proper goodbye. He knows he has to do it, knows it’ll only make Emma question this entire interaction if he _doesn’t_ say goodbye _properly_.

He pauses by her chair, taking in a deep breath and finally just look down at her.

Emma’s already looking at him. She tilts her head back a bit and Isak _knows_ , he fucking _knows_ what that move means, because _he_ has done it countless of times whenever _he_ wanted Even to bend down and _kiss_ him goodbye, and Isak feels sick. Both from the thought of having to kiss her and from all the intrusive memories flashing through his mind.

“I’ll see you later,” Isak chokes out. Her slightly hurt look stays burned into his retinas as he turns his back on her and leaves.

Later, he’ll chide himself over not kissing her goodbye. It should be so easy – it _is_ ; he just had to bend down, press his lips to hers or to her _cheek_. It would be over within two seconds, and he couldn’t even do _that_.

OOOOO

“Boo, you whore.”

“Stop quoting ‘ _Mean Girls_ ’!” Mahdi shouts at Magnus. “Honestly! How are we ever supposed to get any _respect_?” promptly ignoring Magnus’ protest about how Mahdi knew it was _Mean Girls_ without anyone telling him.

Jonas snorts at Mahdi’s dramatics. “Guys who like typically defined ‘ _chick flicks_ ’ are valid too and deserve respect as much as any other individual. Just because teenage girls don’t hold any cultural capital in our society –“

Magnus snaps his fingers wildly at Jonas in agreement. “ _This_. _Yes_!” All whilst Mahdi is too busy groaning, “ _For fuck’s sake_ ,” and making sounds like a dying beached whale.

“And I stand by my statement, Isak!” Magnus yells, louder this time like he wasn’t certain Isak would be able to hear it. “Boo. You. Whore!”

“Leave him alone,” Jonas admonishes. He means it kindly, Isak knows he does, but it still makes his heartbeat pick up and leaves him with a clammy feeling running down his back.

“Yeah,” Mahdi takes a sip of something. “He needs to _study_. Become a world-renowned scientist or some shit.” And _that_ just makes the anxiety _worse_.

In all fairness, Isak _does_ need to study. He’s skipped too many lectures and tutorials this past week, has five essays coming up, the first one due tonight and he’s barely made any headway through it. If he doesn’t pick up some of his slack, he’ll end up needing to ask for several extensions, which his professors will _not_ be enthused about.

But he also knows that tonight is Movie Night-night, as dubbed by Magnus back when they’d still been in student housing and he’d wanted to dedicate a night as ‘Movie Night’ and ended up fucking up. It’s been a long-standing tradition ever since, all of them taking the time to relax and spend some time together.

They’ve had to tolerate Isak when he brings along his laptop and headphones when Magnus has chosen one of Even’s movies, turning his own volume up so high he can’t hear anything and sitting pointedly with his back to the TV-screen, but not so much that the pictures reflect on his own screen.

But this is the first time one of them doesn’t attend.

It was bound to happen, Isak tries to console himself. It _was_. They’re in uni now, and they can’t keep mucking about until they die of reckless stupidity.

It’s easier to convince himself of that than acknowledge the worry of having to be near the boys, of what’s okay to say and what isn’t, how should he sit, how should he talk, what if he does something they’ll question, or worse, _doesn’t_ do something he’s supposed to and they’ll _know_.

So Isak sits in his room, trying to focus on the words on his screen, describing what exactly his professor wants from his paper, and tries to tune out the sound of laughter, the volume of the TV turned up, some action movie playing. Magnus whoops obnoxiously whenever an explosion happens, Mahdi adding other sound effects that do not fit in the context, and Jonas adding funnier dialogue options than the actual one in the movie, and Isak _longs_ to have that to. To add stupid voiceovers, to fool around, to not second-guess every movement he makes, every word he says.

 _Fuck_. Isak stares more intently at the screen. He’s missed the lecture on the final topic, he knows, but he doesn’t have time to read up on it. Shit.

At least this isn’t part of his final grade he consoles himself with and starts typing.

He knows a lot of it, and he saves time by not looking up the things he’s certain-to-only-mildly-certain about. He’s got three hours till deadline and he’s starting to think this might actually be possible when someone rings for their doorbell.

“ _Isak_!” the boys all shout unsynchronized.

“It’s not for us!” Isak yells back without losing his place. He’s _not_ forgetting his point just because some old lady can’t remember which apartment number her daughter lives in. “Who the hell do we know who’d ring the doorbell?”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then the phone connected to the intercom starts ringing along with the bell. _Jesus Christ_.

“Just go check, man.” Jonas tells him.

“You’re closer to the door.”

“We’re watching a film!”

“I’m trying to avoid flunking out of uni!”

“It’s designated ‘ _Movie Night_ ’-night,” Magnus yells, “and _you’re_ bailing so _you_ have to see who it is.”

Isak grumbles something incredibly unflattering, finishing the sentence and the next to last question.

The bell sounds again, a persistent _ding dong_.

“Isak!”

“I’m coming!” Isak yells as he hurries over to the intercom, picking up the phone. “Yello!”

“ _Um –_ “

Isak freezes, because he knows that voice. He _knows_ that voice.

“ _Is this – I mean, it is, obviously – could I –_ “

“Wait in the hall,” Isak orders before slamming the phone in place.

His heart is racing and it’s only picking up speed the longer his finger hovers over the buzzer. He should press it. He’s going to press it, he needs to, he just told Even, _Even_ , he would. He needs to let him in so Even won’t be left stranded on the street, easy pickings for any fan walking by, possible paparazzi – _fuck_ , _fuck_ , _fuck_ – or until he calls again and the boys ask who keeps calling and Isak will have to lie, but how can he because _Even_ will still be _ringing_ –

He presses it.

He toes on his shoes and throws the door open, just picking up Mahdi enquiring who it is from the living room when the door slams shut behind him, cutting him off.

 _Even is here_. Isak takes two steps at a time as he runs down the stairs, one of his shoes nearly flying off in the process. They only live on the first floor, but Isak needs to get far enough down that if the boys were to investigate what’s happening, they’ll have to thunder down the stairs as well before they’ll be able to even catch a glimpse of Even.

How does Even know where he lives? How did he find him? Distantly, he thinks he should be angry. What would’ve happened if he’d shown up when Isak wasn’t home? What if Magnus had been the one to answer the door? They already know _something might_ be up, with Even knowing his name and all, but having Even show up at their front door is an entire different league of _something_. They would _know_ , and Isak has worked too damn hard for that to happen.

He doesn’t feel angry, he doesn’t think so. He feels – he feels a lot, and anger might be one of them, but he can’t distinguish it from all the others.

What Isak fails to think about, though, is that thundering down the stairs means he’s left standing in front of Even quicker than he otherwise would’ve been.

Because he’s there. Right in front of him. Standing right there, with a slightly surprised look on his face – Isak doesn’t know why, _he_ is the one who showed up at _Isak’s_ place – that quickly switches over to a more neutral look, despite the slight downward twinge to the corner of his mouth that had never been there before.

Shit, Isak shouldn’t think like that, he really shouldn’t.

He can’t help it, though. Even is standing _right there_ , in his stupid jean jacket with the sheep skin lining and his stupid floppy hair and, _Jesus_ , is that a _blunt_ tucked in behind his _ear_? Isak almost wants to comment on it, just because he knows the nagging will annoy Even, but it’s an irrational thought and Isak isn’t a child and he shouldn’t be so petty, not before he knows what Even’s doing here.

“Isak,” Even breathes out, like the wind has been knocked out of his lungs; Isak’s sure feel like it.

Two years. _Two years_ Isak hasn’t spoken to Even. _Two years_ and he’s spoken to him _twice_ within a couple weeks, and he’s only gotten the same word twice at that.

Isak feels like he might’ve actually slipped down those stairs, because the ground sure as fuck isn’t beneath his feet right now.

The anger is there now. Not aimed at Even, surprisingly, and it fucking _hurts_ that Isak isn’t angry with Even, barely even angry at what he did. The anger is aimed at _Isak_ , because he _wants_ , he _–_ he _wants_. He wants to throw himself at Even, wants to hold him, wants to be held by him, never wants to go _years_ without him, without hearing Even say his name, and he _shouldn’t_ want _any_ of those things because Even _left_.

“What do you want?” It comes out too harsh for the situation, too cold and impatient, but Isak doesn’t know how to _do this,_ and _that_ for some _stupid reason_ considering it’s been _two years_ hurts even more than the pain of seeing Even, because two years ago he wouldn’t know how to do anything _but_. “How do you know where I live?”

Even physically takes a step back, faltering in whatever confidence he’s managed to build up being a _world-famous director_ , and in that second he looks a lot more like the Even Isak had known; the Even that had been a little broken but _human_ , but then whatever media-mask his PR-team has taught him slips on and any trace of Isak’s Even disappears.

It should make it easier, probably, doing this, but it doesn’t. It’s still Even, and Isak can’t fool himself into believing anything else. It’s just Even who’s learned how to hide himself away behind mask – just like Isak.

Even shrugs. “I asked around.”

Isak’s heart is _pounding_. “Asked _who_?” If he’s spent so much time working so damn hard to ensure no one ever finds out and Even’s just up and _ruined it_ , Isak will – he’ll – he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Did he ask Eskild? Did he take away the one person who sacrificed so much for Isak, who gave Isak so much he’ll forever be indebted to him? He wouldn’t, Isak doesn’t think Even would do that, but he also didn’t think Even would ever seek him out, would be standing in front of him ever again.

Even makes a frustrated little sound, shakes his head like he’s taking it back again. “No, I – Mikael just mentioned where Magnus lives, and your friends apologized for their roommate bailing like that at the party. I just – I didn’t do _that_ , I –“ another little noise.

The reassurances don’t do a lot; don’t really do anything to help Isak, his heart is still pounding too quickly to be normal.

“We should talk,” Even’s voice is low, thank god; Isak does _not_ want any of their neighbors or the boys coming out to check what’s happening.

Isak flinches. “Not a lot to talk about, is there?”

Isak sees the brief flare of annoyance in Even’s eyes – that still looks the same as well, then – before his mask covers anything back up again.

“There’s more than enough to talk about,” Even’s jaw clenches slightly, just a little twinge that Isak hates himself for picking up on. “But if you want, we can focus on the main issue, if you’d like.”

“The certificate.”

Isak’s stomach flips when Even tilts his head slightly, almost like that wasn’t what he’d been expecting Isak to say. What the fuck else would he have to say?

“Right,” Even draws it out, painfully. Isak can feel the heel of his shoe digging into the sole of his foot, making his ankles slowly start to ache. “I have a team looking into it, see what happened. It’s public information, but the journalist would’ve had to know where to look and at some pretty precise dates as well, so…”

Even trails off, looking awkwardly at Isak before it hits him in a face like a brick.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Isak snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. Isn’t that the story of his fucking life. He won’t stay out here for more than five more minutes, he promises himself. He can hold on for five more minutes. “If that’s what you’re implying.”

Even seemingly doesn’t react to the harsh tone of voice or the choice of words, he just tells Isak he hadn’t thought so.

He hadn’t _thought so_? At least it was nice that Even had enough faith in him to not go blab to any and everyone as soon as he left for bigger and better things than Isak could offer, that Even was a firm believer of Isak’s higher _morale_. It almost makes him _want_ to tell everyone simply out of spite, but he knows he’d be the one to take the fall more than Even would, so it doesn’t even matter.

“But my team wanted to ask if it was _possible_ someone had come across your copy?”

And there it is.

“Unlikely.” That part at least is true. “I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten rid of it. If I haven’t, I haven’t the faintest idea where it is.” _Lies, lies, lies_. Isak should be used to it by now, shouldn’t let himself be affected by how bad a taste it leaves behind on his tongue.

Even nods once, slowly and in almost chopped up movements, like his body has forgotten how to work its muscles. “Really?”

His voice sounds oddly small, but Isak doesn’t, can’t, let himself focus on that. Instead, he focuses on the anger flaring up in his body.

‘Really?’ ‘ _Really_?’ Is Even so fucking _full of himself_ that he believes Isak would’ve held onto that stupid fucking paper? Isak wants to _shove it_ in Even’s face, show him just how over and done he really is over this entire ordeal, over _him_ , but he doesn’t, can’t. His copy of the certificate is hidden away in the pages of an old schoolbook on the top shelf of his closet, pushed all the way to the back next to all the other crap he and Even had filled their apartment with that he hasn’t been able to get rid of yet, that he definitely _lied_ to _Even_ about getting rid of.

“They didn’t even have a picture of it, anyway,” Isak points out through clenched teeth. “It was just a rumor. If they actually had access, then they would’ve just put the damn certificate in the article. See? No reason to panic.”

Every reason to panic, actually, but Isak only has 212 seconds left to count down before he’s going to send Even away.

Even’s shoulders slump down far enough that he ends up being more like Isak’s height. He looks tired, exhausted even, maybe, and it feels like second nature for Isak to start wondering if he’s been sleeping enough, does he remember to take care of himself, is he smoking so much it has started to mess with him?

Isak digs his fingernails into his ribcage through his t-shirt. It aches, but it does enough to draw his attention away from Even and onto himself again – just like he should.

“The date was right,” Even points out, another goddamn shrug like this isn’t _their life_ , or what once was their life they’re talking about. “More than likely, it’s only a matter of time.”

 _‘Matter of time_ ’. It sends a horrifying chill rushing through his blood, and a shiver runs through him as Isak twists his head to the side, unable to keep looking at Even.

What the _fuck_ is Isak supposed to _do_? About that? If – _when_ it happens?

“But, uh –“ Even hesitates, he shuffles around on his feet, shifting his weight back and forth, “give me a call, if you hear something? Or anything, really. My number’s the same, if you still have it.”

Isak bites his lip to keep from telling Even he doesn’t. It would only mean Even would code it into his phone, just like he’d done when he’d met him for coffee that first time, taking a stupid selfie with Isak next to him that popped up every time Even called him.

It technically wouldn’t even be a lie because Isak did delete his number out of his phone, but he still remembers it like the back of his hand and he still has all of their texts saved. Isak doesn’t want to tell him any of this, though, so he just nods once and then keeps his body passively still as he waits for Even to leave.

It was an obvious goodbye, so why the hell isn’t Even _leaving_ already?

He’s just _standing there_ , shuffling around awkwardly as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. What does he _want_?

“So!” Even clearly forces his voice to sound brighter, friendlier and Isak wants to roll his eyes at his attempt of _whatever_. “Do you – I mean, do you think we could talk –“

“I’ve got a lot of things I need to do,” Isak takes a step back up the stairs backwards, supporting himself on the banister.

Even’s smile drops off his face at the dismissal and he looks so infinitely sad that Isak almost changes his mind, just _stays_ if Even asks for it, but luckily Even doesn’t say anything, just nods a few times and more goddamn shuffling and not any closer to the last flight of stairs at that either.

“Oh, right. Okay. I’ll let you get back, then. Uh, do you –“

“Thanks for stopping by,” Isak cuts in. He doesn’t know what Even was going to say, but Isak really isn’t in the mood to try his luck.

“Right,” he looks down at his feet, body hunched in on itself and for a second, a _second_ , Isak just wants to throw himself at him, just hold on until all of it goes away, all those years and the media and the secrets and _all of it_.

He remains in place. Even looks back up at him, a small, almost cautious smile on his lips.

“It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah,” Isak mutters. He can’t bring himself to say it back as he watches Even finally go down the stairs, not moving until he sees the front door close behind Even.

He takes one moment to inhale deeply and blink harshly, and then he runs back up the stairs and gets himself into his apartment. The thud of the door closing sounds a bit too final for his taste.

“Who was it then?” Jonas calls out before Isak can rush past the living room and down the hall to his own room.

Isak pauses in the doorway. He can’t seem too frazzled, they’ll know – or, they’ll know _something_ , so he tries to stand there like he isn’t desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Uh –“ fuck, he should’ve thought about that before he went back in. If only his mind wasn’t so goddamn frazzled all of the time. “Sana. She had to drop off some notes for molecular biology.” _Nailed it_.

Magnus looks at him quizzically. “Where are they then?”

“Huh?”

“The notes.”

 _Fuck_.

“Oh!” Isak tries to laugh it off, but the laugh he manages to get out comes out too high-pitched and utterly _false_. “She forgot to bring them.”

And now both Jonas _and_ Mahdi are also looking at him weirdly. Shit, fuck, _shit_.

“She… forgot to bring the notes she came over to give you?” Jonas asks carefully.

“Yeah, she’ll just email me them instead. Much easier that way, too.” Isak nods a couple times, looking over at whatever movie all of them are watching instead of looking over at them, expecting to see some crap action movie, but instead greeted with a blue hue and soft music. Goddamn it, he recognizes the pool scene immediately – it’s one of Even’s, he just can’t catch a break today. “Anyway, I should probably get some reading done, _ha det_.”

There’s panic thrumming through his body and he feels so _angry_ and he doesn’t _want_ _this_ anymore, feeling like this, being like this.

He practically runs down the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force his window and walls shudder a bit in protest. None of the boys yell at him for it, but Isak still presses his forehead against the door, the wood cold against his too clammy skin.

 _Shit_ , Isak thinks as his legs give out and he folds like a house of cards. One of his knees bang against the door too loudly, but he can’t hear anyone coming to check on him so he figures he’s in the clear.

As much of in the clear as he can be given the situation he’s managed to end up in.

 _Shit_ , seems pretty fitting to repeat, so Isak does just that. _Shit_. Then adds on a _fuck_ for good measure.

He still has the paper he needs to finish. Isak wants to cry, and it’s not over goddamn biological modification.

 _Fuck_.

**_ Past _ **

“Isak,” Eskild whines, drawing out the vowels as he leans dramatically against the door frame.

Isak rolls his eyes at Eskild’s antics – honestly, you’d think he had been taking lessons from Even, except, well, except Eskild’s never _met_ Even.

“Why are you leaving us? Don’t you like us anymore?”

“’f course I like you,” Isak placates, folding yet another shirt and putting it onto the pile on his bed.

“It’s just,” Eskild pouts, “you’d rather move into some dingy one-bedroom flat all by yourself than stay here with us.”

The flat _is_ dingy, no doubt about it, but he won’t be by himself. He doesn’t know how to tell Eskild that, though, not after so long with so many secrets.

Isak shrugs and tries to ignore the guilt and self-hatred swirling around in his stomach, mixing into an unpleasant cocktail. “I just think it’ll be a nice change. I think I might need it.”

“Then why?” drawing out the ‘y’. “Did… did we do something? Did I?”

That makes Isak actually look up at Eskild, really see him.

Isak swipes his pile of nicely folded clothes off of the bed. Even will moan and groan about it, but this takes precedence.

“Listen, I’m not good at emotions, you know that, but I don’t want to leave and have you think it was something you did that caused it. I am so grateful to you, I don’t think you realize how much.”

Eskild’s always been a very emotive person, has never hesitated to show himself to the people around him. But now he’s trying to hide his genuine upset from Isak, and whilst Isak can understand why he does it and probably would’ve been grateful for it had he not been so certain this was the right move, he doesn’t ever want to be the person who makes Eskild feel like Isak does every waking moment of the day.

“I – I don’t –“ Isak lets out a harsh breath. “I don’t know where I would be right now if it weren’t for you. Or, I do know, I’d probably be out on the street somewhere, or getting into shit way over my head. I wouldn’t have been able to get away from the shit back ho-“ he hesitates. “Back then. And I should’ve told you sooner how much that meant to me, that you just took me in like that, gave me a place to stay, saw that I needed help and just gave it without questioning it. And then just pile on all the other things you’ve done for me ever since, I –”

Isak shakes his head, feeling a little breathless. He’ll never be able to pay Eskild back, he knows that, but figuring out the words to tell him that isn’t easy.

“Then why?” Eskild asks instead of waiting for Isak to clear his head, sitting down on the now available bed. “If this is about Noora coming back, she and I have already talked about it! She’ll room with me, it won’t be an issue in the slightest!”

Isak refuses to look at Eskild, absolutely _refuses_. He won’t be able to handle what he’ll see, not when Eskild so genuinely wants for Isak to stay.

But Isak can’t. It’s a three-bedroom apartment; four people will make it _tight_ , let alone _five_ people, especially when the fifth person is a _secret_. It’s already enough of a challenge to sneak Even in, working around everyone’s schedules to avoid getting caught, it’ll be outright impossible if Isak has to work around _another_ additional person.

“It’s not about Noora,” Isak says, because it isn’t. He’d already agreed to move in with Even by the time Eskild had started shouting excitedly about Noora coming back from Spain. “And I know it wouldn’t have been a problem, it’s just –“

He trails off. What could he possibly say to make Eskild understand? Without revealing something Isak is not ready for anyone to know? Even – Isak wants to _marry_ Even. He’d promised himself to cool it with those kinds of thoughts, at least until they were at a place in time where he wouldn’t have to convince Even it was true, that he would just believe it, but that doesn’t change the fact that Isak hasn’t changed his mind about it. He still wants to marry Even. He wanted to marry him yesterday, he wants to marry him today, and he’ll want to marry him tomorrow.

“Everyone deserves to have a _home_ they can come back to.” Isak looks up at Eskild and tries not to make it too evident that whilst his bedroom door was shut, Isak had found a home of his own.

Eskild’s eyes are teary. Isak has to bite his lip to not tear up himself at the sight.

“That includes you too, you know?” Eskild’s voice is barely louder than a whisper. It’s shaking. “You’re _always_ welcome here. You’ll always be welcome here. Whether it’s because you change your mind and want to move back in, or just to stay for a night, or even if you just want a hug or a friendly face or a dinner with friends, you can _have_ it.”

And Isak – Isak was aware of how lucky he was to have run into Eskild, to have someone like Eskild in his life, to have _Eskild_ in his life, but at time like this where it’s so _evident_ what Isak _has_ , it’s – it’s overwhelming how much gratitude Isak really has for Eskild.

“Thank you,” he says instead of ‘ _I know_ ’.

“It’s just that I _worry_ ,” Eskild sounds frustrated, acts frustrated. His hands are curled up in lose fists that he keeps flailing about as if it’ll get his point across. He looks a bit desperate.

 _Oh_ , Isak thinks. This might be what it’s like to have parents who care about you – to not have a dad who’ll send rent money without asking about anything else, without checking where you live, with _whom_ you live, or to not have a mom who sees right through you. Not that Isak thinks of Eskild like a _parent_ , he’s too much of a _friend_ to be a father.

But he’s someone he looks up to, and he’s someone he can rely on, that he can ask for help from. Someone who’ll give it to him without a question.

“You shut yourself in your room so often, completely closed-off from the world, and now you’re going to go live all by yourself –“ Eskild lets out a frustrated little noise. “I just – I want what’s best for you, you know that, right?”

It would be easy, Isak knows, just to say it right now. Not that – not _that_ bit, about Even being his long-term boyfriend that he’s moving in with, but he could say that Even’s just going to be his roommate.

Isak wouldn’t have to hide Even away like he was a dirty secret, something to not be proud of, and he’d still get to keep himself a secret. He wouldn’t have to stand here and _lie_ to Eskild why he’s moving out, probably forever leaving the tiny amount of doubt in Eskild’s head that _he’s_ the one to have done something wrong, when _Isak_ is the one who can’t seem to do anything right.

Anything but this, anyway, because Even –

Even is definitely a _right_.

He would be able to tell Eskild he could come over whenever, that he wouldn’t practically be forbidden from seeing Isak’s new place because it would be too obvious two people were living there.

Not for the first time, Isak wishes he was braver, and for the first time, he wishes Eskild _knew_.

And then it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of freezing water over his head, and he knows it wouldn’t have worked out.

He’s seen Eskild get ready for events, get ready for dates, get ready for casual sex. Has seen the way he dresses, his dates dress, the makeup and the slang and the stereotype playing out right in front of his eyes, and all Isak can think is _that’s not him_. He’s not like that, and that’s enough to want to keep his mouth shut.

Isak directs his attention back onto the pile of now unfolded clothes on his floor. It’ll set him back by nearly an hour if he has to redo it neatly, but he won’t have room if he just shoves it in the bag. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh,” he says, sweeping the Jesus t-shirt off the pillow. The material is soft and worn, clearly loved from Eskild using it and then Isak’s multiple uses as well. He’ll miss it. He holds it out to Eskild. “This is yours.”

Eskild looks at the t-shirt, looks at the faded picture, looks at the small distance between Isak’s outstretched hand and his own body.

When he looks up at Isak, his eyes are soft but his smile is sad.

“You keep it.”

The t-shirt feels a lot heavier in his arms after that, feels even heavier in the IKEA-bag he stuffs it inside along with all his other clothes. It weighs down on his shoulder as Eskild hugs him tightly, sniffling quietly.

It wouldn’t have worked anyway, Isak consoles himself when the finality of the door sliding shut behind him settles in. Telling Eskild that Even was only a roommate. They’re going to live in a one bedroom apartment, with just enough space for a dresser, their bed, and a small table with two chairs in the corner. Where would Isak say that Even sleeps? With him in the double bed? There’s only so far ‘ _no homo_ ’ can go.

It’s a bit difficult to breathe, but Isak knows Even makes it easier, so he makes a start down the stairs and heads _home_.

OOOOO

 _‘Home_ ’ _really_ is… _something_.

It’s small and it’s shit and it’s on the fourth floor which leaves Isak’s lungs burning, then makes him want to hack them up when they repeatedly have to walk up and down the stairs to bring all their stuff in.

This would’ve been a much easier process if they just had friends who _knew_ , but they don’t so they make do.

It turns out nice enough, at least, and it’s all of _their_ stuff mixed together which makes something pleasant surge through Isak’s stomach. It’s Isak’s bed sheets and Even’s pillows and Isak’s favorite hoodie of Even’s that’s hung over the back of one of the chairs. It’s Even’s camera gear spread over the top of the dresser, and Isak’s school books on the improvised bookshelf, and it’s their clothes mixed together in the dresser, the scent of _Even_ , of the two of them permeated so deeply in everything Isak touches nowadays it makes him feel giddy beyond compare.

It’s even nice when they end up having to deep-clean the place before they can use it. Isak makes a joke about _hvitevarer inkludert_ as he messes with the freezer, and Even jokes that Isak in another universe would’ve put it as a caption on Instagram or some shit. Isak tells him he hopes there isn’t a single universe where there’s an Isak who’s so pretentious.

It’s movie nights where they can both laugh as loudly as they want. It’s mornings where Isak gets to see Even wrapped in a towel as he comes out of the bathroom, or the best kinds of mornings where Isak gets to take the shower _with_ Even. It’s having sex as loudly as they want, wherever in the matchstick box-sized apartment they live in they want – mostly in the bed, but neither of them holds back just because of that. It’s finding out Even makes the best scrambled eggs Isak has ever tasted, and that they delegate scrambled egg-cooking to Even because Isak’s eggs always turn out either undercooked or overcooked. Instead, if they’re in the mood, Isak can make quite decent sunny-side ups or a simple omelet.

A lot of it’s the same as before. They do homework together, Even bounces off ideas on Isak, Isak gives well-balanced encouragement and critique when Even needs it and spends the rest of the time enjoying the peek into the worlds Even create like it’s nothing.

Some of it’s a little different, but probably for the better. Even opens up about his therapy sessions, about his medication. Doesn’t hide himself away, even when he’s so frustrated with the entire thing and clearly wants to pretend it doesn’t exist.

When Isak has finally sorted out the last cutlery drawer, he walks back into the bedroom-slash-dining area-slash-recreation room to see how Even’s faring with putting away their last bits of clothing.

Even’s lying on the bed, feet still firmly on the floor, which makes it look a bit like he just gave up and threw himself on the bed, not bothering to get on it properly.

“ _Hei_ ,” Isak says, sauntering over to the bed as well. He lies down next to Even, but swings his feet up so they’re propped up against the wall and he and Even end up lying upside-down. “Does it feel like home?”

He doesn’t ask _does it feel as much as home to you as it does to me_? Even probably gets it anyway.

Even hums noncommittally.

Maybe it’s just because of Isak’s own insecurities, this deeply rooted _fear_ that people around him always end up leaving, but he _really_ wants to know that Even hasn’t changed his mind, that this is still _it_ for him, so he scoots closer until he can nudge his nose against Even’s cheek.

It startles a laugh out of Even, which naturally makes Isak smile as well. Seeing Even lit up, smiling so brightly always does that.

But it gets Even to look at him, to slide a hand into Isak’s curls, running his fingers through them. Isak hums, pleased.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Even promises him, then languidly presses his lips against Isak’s until Isak is dizzy with lack of air and his entire body feels like it’s melted into the sheets.

It’s slow and it’s perfect and there’s no rush, because for the first time, there’s no threat of anyone coming barging in, of wanting their attention, of needing to hide the other from the world. This is _their place_ , their _home_ , and they get to do whatever they want, they get to live in this small, square bubble tucked away from the world.

“Do you think,” Even asks, lips still moving against Isak’s with every word. It tingles, stings a little from overworked muscles at this point, “that there’s another Isak and Even who just started their life together in their new home?”

And Isak’s mouth _hurts_ but he can’t help the stretch of the smile, the bubbles forming inside his stomach. _God_ , he’s so in fucking love.

“Definitely,” he agrees.

Even hums contemplatively. “What do you think their home looks like?”

 _You_ , Isak thinks but doesn’t say. _It looks like you_. _Whatever you look like in those universes, that’s what every Isak’s home looks like_.

“The same,” he says instead, “except they’ve got, like, different colored curtains or something.”

Even smiles and pulls back a bit so he can look over at their window. “Yeah? What color?”

Isak turns his head so he can look at their white curtains, watch the way the sunlight shines straight through but the color of it gets trapped. He thinks of long nights with the summer sun, lighting up Even’s hair golden and coloring their skin until everything about him looks ethereal.

“Yellow curtains,” he tells Even, turning back so he can kiss him again. “They chose yellow curtains.”

For the first time, Isak is _excited_ about going home. He wonders if this was what it was like for everyone else. All those times his classmates had spent the day looking forward to getting to go home and relax, kick their feet back, and Isak had looked at them and wondered _why_ they wanted to do that, why they wanted to go from one place of stress to another.

It’s not stressing getting to come home to Even.

Isak also hadn’t felt stressed about getting to live at the Kollektiv, except for the fear of living with other people who could find out.

There’s no fear now. There’s only Even and the life Isak is building with him for the two of them. They’re stealing a space for themselves in a corner of the world without anyone realizing it. It’s their safe-space, the place just for the two of them, and when Isak has to leave for school, he longs to come back _home_.

And Even feels the same way, Isak knows. He has set up an entire editing station so he’ll get to leave campus and work earlier, even as he progressively spends more and more time there the more people get to know him.

Isak knows the feeling, knows how captivating Even is, how hypnotic and mesmerizing he is, and Isak is proud of Even, but at the same time he relishes in being the one Even wants to come home to, the one he’s excited to see at the end of the day, the one he wants to share what he did that day with, who wants to hear about Isak’s own day.

It’s all the little things that make it easier that money is a bit tight. Isak’s dad still sends rent money, and Even’s got his job, which for every promotion pays more and more, but they live in _Oslo_ and nothing is cheap. Isak is only a second year, but he’s taking a lot of A-levels, and second-year means he has to finish up every subject that isn’t an A-level, and with all the time he spends studying he can’t keep a job on the side.

So they live on a budget and make sure to keep to it. Even has a tendency to be a bit spontaneous with money, so Isak has the foresight to set a small amount aside every month as a ‘just in case’. Even’s parents also send something extra every once in a while, so despite Isak’s initial concerns, it’s easy enough to make do with what they’ve got.

Come spring, when the long winter months are over and they’ve both settled into the usual school routines again, Even’s had an additional two promotions, was personally asked for by one of the higher ups, and has five separate directors’ numbers in his phone – two of whom he’s in regular contact with, and another one he’d had dinner with and met his family.

It gets easier and easier now that Even has some actual film school exams under his belt, more and more people are interested in talking to him, even if it’s just polite interest at first, Even wins them over, easy as nothing.

He gets the opportunity to co-direct a short film with one of his new director friends. It’s just a small thing, Even tries to downplay it when he tells Isak about it, but Isak can tell it means a lot to Even, even if it actually _is_ a rather small thing. It’s web-based, and it’s mostly without pay, but Even _loves_ doing it. He’ll spend nearly entire _days_ on set, and once that’s done he’ll barely leave the editor’s station. Isak misses him terribly when he comes home to an empty apartment, goes to sleep all by himself, and most mornings wake up to find Even’s already left again.

But it’s worth it when Even shows him the rough cut, when Isak has to watch it three consequtive times – once just to take it all in, which technically gets split into two because he starts crying with how proud of Even he is and they have to rewind it to the beginning, the official second time to hear Even’s commentary about everything that went on behind the scenes, about all the decisions they had to make, why that shot was framed the way it was and why it was important, and then a final third time to take it all in – to remember the story by itself and then pair it with the knowledge of why it meant something to _Even_ and everyone else who’d worked hard on it.

Isak cries two times more, and Even laughs at him and says, _it wasn’t even sad!_ which is true, because it was more of a comedic drama, if that’s a thing, but at the same time he hugs Isak close and presses closed-mouth kisses all over his face as Isak blubbers about how much he liked it and how fucking proud he is of Even, until _Even’s_ the one who has tears in his eyes.

They learn a lot about each other – both good and less good, as is normal. Even is basically incapable of doing the laundry and Isak’s insomnia leaves him testy and grumpy. Even’s fears about his bipolar being too much for Isak are proved to not be true. Besides, Even’s been on medication that works for him for a couple years by now, and whenever a cycle does begin, they’re smaller ones that don’t leave Even with _too much_ self-hatred. Whenever things start to get overwhelming, they slow time down, take it minute by minute until everything feels okay again.

But most importantly, they learn that not only is this, them, doable, it’s _wanted_. Isak never wants anything else, anything more than what he gets to have right now, and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world – nearly as amazing as learning that Even wants the same.

When Isak asks Even to marry him this time, it’s just as spontaneous, just as little buildup as the first time. Isak still doesn’t have a ring to give Even, but there’s no hesitation. Even just says _yes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can y'all tell that I've never read a magazine article? xD That is, like, the fourth or fifth version.
> 
> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/622617986577170432/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This is the first part that I ever wrote one evening: From "Coffee" to "God damn it, Magnus" was the entire origin of this story, and then I wrote like a three page summary so that by the time I had finished the third chapter of [ BtR](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159439/chapters/24903975), I wouldn't have forgotten why the hell I wanted to write a story about _coffee??_
> 
> The past was written (much later ;)) to "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You" - the first half to Talia Lahoud's cover, and the other half to Haley Reinhart's cover.

**_ Present _ **

Coffee. He needs coffee, right _now_. Not working on the assignment worth half his credit in cell-biology and genetics until two days before it is due really hasn’t been his best idea. Might even beat the time he figured he could follow all those vodka shots up with a bottle of tequila.

Isak flicks the light switch on when he walks into the kitchen. Magnus’ computer is on the dining table, open, and Isak can’t help himself from gathering potential blackmail on Magnus, so he pulls the chair out and checks what’s already opened before he’ll start snooping.

Except… it’s not just any little old thing Magnus was looking at. The tab open is a movie review about “ _Circles_ ”, the movie… the movie Even directed.

 _Once again Næsheim manages to sweep us off our feet and turn our worlds upside down, or should we say ‘spin it around in_ Circles _’ as he’s set to win yet another award for his hard work_ –

No. Isak hurls himself away from the computer, forgetting entirely about his original intentions. He won’t do this to himself. He still remembers frantically reading everything about Even’s movies and watching them endlessly, and he remembers how much it _hurt_ to think about how Even came up with the idea, his work process, did he push himself too hard, did he remember to eat, how magnificent he did – _does_ with all of his movies. Because it did. Hurt, that is. It felt like his heart was tearing itself into tiny pieces and he didn’t enjoy the feeling, but at least in those moments he _felt_ something.

But he’s better now. _Trying_ to be better. And he won’t read it. He _won’t_.

He forces himself to look at the coffee machine instead and meticulously begins to make a cup, mentally listing all the things he’s doing and has to do in order to not turn around and look at Magnus’ computer, mentally priding himself on the fact that he manages not to. He’s getting better.

“Isak, hey! You’re up early,” Magnus says as he walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing clothes but his hair is still wet. He shakes it out of his face as he sits down by his laptop. “’Mind making me a cup as well?”

Isak only shrugs and repeats his earlier process to avoid temptation. He will not look at the review, or any other, for that matter.

“Hey, Isak, listen to this, ‘ _Once again Næsheim manages_ –’”

Isak slams his coffee cup onto the counter. _God damn it_ , Magnus.

“He’s so cool,” Magnus says, lying halfway across the table, staring dreamily into his screen, “did you see him on the Late Show the other day? He was there with Sonja, though, so I don’t know if I believe the rumors about them breaking up.”

“I still don’t believe they were ever together,” Jonas says as he enters the kitchen. He gives Isak a careful look that’s easy enough to ignore, even as he knows he deserves it; he hadn’t exactly handled seeing – seeing _him_ well, spending all his time since either mindlessly numb or furiously busy. The mud on Jonas’ running shoes isn’t dry yet and drags all over the kitchen floor.

“Dude,” Isak calls him out on it, only to have Jonas shrug, “ _sorry, man_ ” before turning back to Magnus.

Out of all of them, Jonas was the most likely to indulge Magnus in his Even-obsession. Mahdi would roll his eyes and make fun of him, although he would listen – until a certain amount of time had passed, there was only so much Even-fangirling he could take – and Isak would, for obvious reasons, shut him down harshly immediately and then have to apologize for it later after feeling shitty about it.

It’s not fair.

“Hollywood does it all the time,” Jonas insists. “Fake romances for publicity or something.”

Magnus frowns. “Sonja isn’t famous, though. Neither of them would gain anything from an arrangement like that.”

 _Oh yeah, nothing at all_ , Isak bitterly thinks to himself as he pulls out the bread and a knife to cut a couple of slices for breakfast. _Nothing Even would ever gain from being in a relationship with_ Sonja _, nope_.

“What are we talking about?” Mahdi knocks on the doorframe, grinning when Isak starts to moan about the mud _he’s_ now tracking in. Honestly, when did Isak become the _responsible_ one?

“Even and Sonja,” Jonas says, throwing the one apple they’ve bought around in the air rather than _eating it_.

“Sonja and Even,” Magnus corrects. “Sounds better, doesn’t it?”

 _They sound absolutely fucking_ perfect. _Yippee_.

“New drama?” Mahdi asks as he pulls open the fridge, rattling its contents around. Isak tries to narrow down on what is being moved around without actually looking.

That was a jar, the mayo? Maybe the jam – probably the jam. What else have they got on that shelf? If he just keeps focusing on those things, on Jonas’ and Mahdi’s movements, of cutting up the bread, then it won’t hurt as much to be here when Magnus is talking about _Even_.

“Nah,” a few clicks on the computer, “he’s set to win another award. One for ‘ _Circles_ ’ this time – he better fucking win, that movie was a work of _art_ and I will hunt down that damn committee if they fuck it up.”

Isak can hear Jonas trying to smother a snicker. Usually Isak would look over at him and share a knowing look, implying they’re both suffering through this conversation, but Jonas is polite enough not to show it.

“There’ll probably be new articles and interviews coming up with him, then,” Mahdi fishes out the butter – the _butter_ , that doesn’t go on their _jar shelf_ – and closes the fridge.

Magnus emits an odd ostrich-type gasp followed by a furious amount of _clicks_. “Oh my god, do you think he’ll come to Norway to do some as well? Do you think that’s why he was here in the first place? Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god_!”

He starts frantically typing on the computer as he keeps muttering that he needs to look it up. Isak rolls his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut, because he’s a good friend and he’s getting better, no matter what anyone else might believe.

“How’d practice go?” Isak asks instead and then focuses all his attention on the stories Mahdi and Jonas tell him about football training and how it had been so slippery they’d almost had to cancel. The coach had finally put an end to the madness when it had turned into much more of a mud-fight than a football match.

“You don’t look all that muddy for having been in a mud-fight.” Their shoes are filthy, though. Isak is going to have to remember to clean that off of the floor before it dries and stains the wood. Does mud stain? He isn’t particularly interested in finding out.

Jonas holds up his hands that are colored grey from the dried up mud. “T’is all about strategy, man.”

“And I hide behind him,” Mahdi nods. Isak can’t help but snort when Jonas pouts dramatically. He’s quick to turn his attention back on Isak though.

“You lot should be nicer to me,” Jonas whines.

Isak rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee, but he dutifully asks Jonas in a faux-complacent voice, “How can we _ever_ make it up to you?”

Jonas grins obnoxiously. “Cook me lunch,” he demands.

Isak quirks an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Did your hands fall off at practice? I’m not cooking you lunch.”

Jonas holds his hands up again and, alright, fair enough, they are disgusting, but not _unusable_. “I can’t use these hands to cook. I’d end up eating mud!”

“Don’t eat mud,” Magnus tells them absentmindedly. He’s still clicking away on the computer and Isak doubts he even knows the context to what he just commented on.

Jonas laughs. “Even Magnus can tell it’s a bad idea and he’s off in Even-land.”

Isak rolls his eyes again. “Alright, _fine_. What do you want?” Anything to get the conversation _away_ from Even, which was what he’d been trying to do when he’d asked about footie _in the first place_.

Jonas chants nonsense triumphantly and doesn’t even bother answering Isak, before Isak makes to leave with his coffee to go back to his room.

“An omelet!” Jonas yells at him. He reaches out to grab onto him, but then thinks better of it, which Isak is quite grateful for even if he refuses to show it. “Make me an omelet!”

“What d’you want on it?” Isak takes another sip of his coffee before he places the cup on the counter and opens the fridge.

“Ham,” Jonas decides. “Ham and red bell peppers.”

Isak grimaces as he riffles through the contents of their fridge. Not only does he like _neither_ of those, they also don’t have either. “I can do cheese and tomatoes.”

“Done,” Jonas agrees too quickly and sits down at the table opposite Magnus.

Jonas and Mahdi strike up a conversation about a possible strategy they should probably bring up at the next practice – usually Isak would be all about that, but right now he kind of likes the simplicity of having to focus on what his hands are doing.

He doesn’t cook often – at all, more likely; he hasn’t got a clue as to why Jonas would ask _him_ to cook him lunch. He doesn’t have the patience for it, nor is he particularly good at it – he just knows enough to get by.

But there is something mind-numbing about cracking eggs open, the yolk and whites sizzle against the hot pan while Isak takes out a cutting board and lays two big tomatoes on it. They’re still slightly dripping from being washed and it leaves behind a pool of water on the cutting board underneath them. He should probably dry that off.

It’s fifty/fifty whether or not it’ll actually keep his mind off of things, or if whatever he’s cooking is so simple or the issue so big there’s no reprieve for him, but right now he can ignore Magnus’ muttered comments and tune in and out of Jonas’ and Mahdi’s conversation.

It’s nice. It’s everything he’d hoped of getting when the boys had first asked him to move in. And it’s really the small moments like these that remind him just why he decided enough was enough, that he was done with being drunk 95% of his day and miserable 100% of it.

“There’s _nothing_ ,” Magnus whines. He’s still tapping away so Isak doesn’t know how truthful that is, or if all the articles are just saying the same thing over and over again.

“Cheer up!” Mahdi tries, pointedly talking over Magnus’ exaggerated sighing. “It’s still early. Maybe nothing’s been released yet.”

“I guess,” another tap. Then a click and a few more clicks, and then Magnus types something else in.

Isak busies himself with sprinkling some cheese onto the now golden, fluffy eggs and then finds a knife big enough to cut the tomatoes in slices.

“Don’t worry,” Isak hears Jonas say, almost like he’s further away than the couple of steps he really is. “There’ll be something soon.”

Magnus sighs again. “I’ll just keep refreshing until something new pops up.”

“That’s a bit obsessive,” Mahdi tells him. “Come on, have a bite of omelet with us and then you can check. You can’t spend your entire day just refreshing all those sites.”

Isak knows Magnus will be frowning, he knows him well enough to know that. “I sure can.”

Mahdi tuts, but he doesn’t get into it, which Isak is rather grateful for. He’s still got a bit of a headache lingering from his panicked paper-writing, sleepless night, and hearing about Even had _not_ been the morning he’d hoped to have to wind down, but oh, well.

“Where’s the food at?” Jonas whines. He stomps his foot underneath the table like a toddler. Isak bangs the knife against the cutting board in the same pattern to mock Jonas – which he shouldn’t, because that knife is massive and Isak is going to lose control of it if he’s being a dick handling it.

“You want the eggs raw?”

Jonas probably rolls his eyes or does something equally rude and unappreciative of Isak’s magnanimity. Isak actually goes through the effort of twisting around to stick his tongue out at Jonas.

Mahdi laughs as Jonas tries to throw a random piece of paper they have lying around, but he’s forgotten to fold it or crumble it into a ball, so it just hovers in the air before it slowly falls down on the ground.

“You’re acting like a child,” Jonas scolds, putting on a posh voice that makes Isak want to laugh again. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this light.

“Oh, yeah,” Mahdi deadpans. “ _He’s_ acting like a child. Remind me again, _who_ was it that started that mud-fight?”

“That son-of-a-bitch Markus if anyone asks,” Jonas answers raptly. Isak snorts as he makes the first slice, carefully curling his fingers away from the blade. “ _Especially_ if –“

Magnus interrupts them when he starts screaming. All three of them jump up and Isak whirls around to him to see what’s wrong, what’s happened, what’s –

But Magnus is just looking at his computer screen, and he’s screaming because he’s _excited_.

“Jesus Christ,” Isak grumbles. “Don’t do that! I nearly cut myself!”

He’ll let Jonas and Mahdi deal with whatever the fuck is going on. God, he’d just been having fun, but now it seems like his good mood has evaporated as quickly as the April weather changes. He knows it’ll come back; he just needs to settle down a bit and get his heart to stop racing from the fright Magnus had given all of them.

He places the knife back onto the tomato while he involuntarily picks up on Magnus hyperventilating and Jonas and Mahdi asking what’s happening even while they still sound slightly annoyed about the scare as well. Even _that_ Isak isn’t a good enough friend to do.

No, stop it. He’s getting better and everything takes time. He’ll get there, one day. Hopefully.

The tomato is still a bit wet, the skin smooth and slippery as he tries to make it stop rolling around long enough for him to cut it. He’s just gotten the perfect size ready to press down on when Magnus wheezes the first intelligible thing he’s said since he started shouting.

“They’ve published the marriage certificate!”

And Isak’s world stops.

Or his heart does – his world doesn’t, because if he could stop the world, he already would’ve done that. He would’ve stopped it a long time ago.

His mind is dangerously blank, no inputs or outputs and he can’t even register how scary that feels. He doesn’t register that his hands aren’t still but desperately shaking. He can’t register anything until he presses down on the knife, involuntarily following-through on his abandoned motion.

Except he isn’t holding onto the tomato anymore, not properly anyway, so the knife slips off the surface. Isak barely registers the pain from the blade cutting down his hand, leaving a big enough gash that he starts _bleeding_.

“Shit!” he swears and Jonas is up off his chair before Isak can even move to the sink to rinse it off.

“Jesus!” Mahdi rushes over to the two of them. He grabs the roll of paper towels on his way, already bundling up way more pieces than Isak needs.

Jonas grabs onto his arm and drags him over to the sink. The water is cold and ends up splashing everywhere from the high pressure. It sounds like bullets hitting metal in Isak’s ears.

“Hold it under the water – Isak,” Jonas says louder to get his attention. “Hold it under the water!”

“It doesn’t look like it’s deep,” Mahdi says, pressing the bundled up paper towel onto his palm too quickly so it ends up getting soaked through.

The pain is dull. Isak always thought pain would bring someone back into their body, but all it does is make him float away even further. All the noises around him sound dulled down like he’s underwater and everyone around him is trying to scream at him to get his attention, but he can’t hear them properly.

His breathing picks up and he has to _stop this_ , stop panicking before one of the boys notice.

Jonas notices. He looks up at Isak with a worried frown and Isak can’t look at him, just keeps looking at the wet, slightly red-stained paper towel Mahdi is still pressing onto his hand.

“Hey, you alright?” Jonas asks. His hands moves up from his elbow to his shoulder to get a better grip. “You’re not squeamish around blood, are you? Do you feel dizzy?”

Mahdi makes a high-pitched groan. “ _Please_ tell me you’re not about to hurl.”

“Shut up,” Jonas doesn’t stop looking at Isak. “Isak?”

And it just – it sounds like the first of many confused, slightly scared _Isak?_ ’s that Isak has a feeling he’s about to hear for the rest of his life, and it hasn’t even started yet.

It hasn’t started before Magnus goes, “What. The actual. Fuck.”

Jonas and Mahdi don’t hear it, but Isak does. It’s the first thing he hears properly since the knife slipped out of his hand, and he wishes he hadn’t heard it. He _wishes_ he hadn’t heard it, won’t hear it ever again, but Magnus repeats it when Jonas has turned off the sink and Mahdi has given him another, now dry, towel to press against his hand.

It’s not even bleeding anymore, but Isak holds it there anyway. His body somehow won’t let him press down, so it’s just resting there.

“What the fuck?”

“Magnus,” Jonas snaps, twisting around to look at him, “we’re a bit busy right now, think you could fantasize about Even _later_?”

Jonas’ hand is still on Isak’s shoulder, which means that when Jonas turns around, so does Isak, and Mahdi seemingly subconsciously mirrors them as well. Isak’s lower back is pressed harshly into the counter. He tries to take another step back, wants to get as far away from Magnus and his stupid, _stupid_ laptop as entirely possible, but he can’t. He’s stuck, he’s _stuck_ , and if the certificate is _out_ then he’s also stuck in a completely different way.

Magnus’ lips are pressed into a thin line as he stares right at Isak. His gaze is unwavering and Isak feels pinned by the mere force of it, his breath halting as a chill settles over his body.

Magnus doesn’t even reply to defend himself. He doesn’t reply to explain. He just slides the computer around until the screen is facing them, and there Isak sees it.

He sees a large, blown up picture, right in the beginning of whatever article Magnus has open. The article itself doesn’t really matter, it’s just the picture that certainly does, or what the picture is of at least matters.

Jonas and Mahdi clearly can’t tell at first – they’re too far away from the screen, but Isak recognizes the piece of paper. He recognizes the info. He recognizes the _Vigselattest_ written at the top and he recognizes Even’s handwriting and he recognizes his own handwriting. He recognizes their names and the date and their signatures. He recognizes all of it, because he has that exact paper tucked away, forever in hiding because he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of getting rid of it.

He’s staring at his own marriage certificate, blown up and on the internet for anyone and everyone to see. And now Magnus has seen it. And Jonas and Mahdi have seen it and are seconds away from realizing what it is.

And Isak doesn’t want to be here for when they figure it out.

“Oh my god –“ Mahdi starts, has barely started before all life suddenly returns to Isak’s body and he _bolts_ towards the hallway.

His heart is pounding and the blood is rushing in his ears. He can barely hear Mahdi’s incredulous exclamations or Jonas’ surprised gasp. All Isak knows is he needs to get out of there, right now.

He’s just a couple of feet away from the doorway when he’s suddenly hauled back by the hand Jonas still has on his shoulder, has had ever since he came up to him to help with the cut on his hand, and suddenly Isak is back to standing between Jonas and Mahdi, counter pressed into his lower back.

Mahdi moves until he’s blocking the entrance to the kitchen, like that would be enough to deter Isak from trying to leave. Isak wants to laugh a bit at that, laugh the way he’s feeling; hysterically and panicked and maybe all he wants to do is scream and cry, actually.

They’re all just _staring_ at him.

Isak is breathing heavily. It stands out in the otherwise quiet room, and all that amounts to is Isak’s breathing picking up even further. He’s still looking frantically around the room, like a new exit will suddenly pop up just because he wills it so. It doesn’t.

He can’t bear to look at any of them, but at the same time he can’t stand not knowing what they’re thinking. Can’t stand having to witness them looking at him differently, like _he’s_ different, but also can’t stand living in this middle place, this Schrödinger’s box where they could either be looking at him in disdain or the same way they’ve always looked at him; like he’s their friend.

Friends don’t lie to each other. Not about something big like this.

Isak looks at them.

It’s just a quick glance, scanning over each of them before he can’t stand to look anymore, focuses in on the back wall in the kitchen instead. They’re all looking confused, but Jonas is also looking both panicked and _pitying_ , like he’s afraid Isak will bolt again, which, yeah, is looking really tempting right now. Mahdi looks _small_ and Magnus, most surprising of all, has a careful mask plastered onto his face that gives nothing away.

Isak can’t even begin to imagine how he looks right now.

Can they see? Can they see the panic and the _heartbreak_ and all the other feelings he’s been trying so hard to hide away?

The quiet breaks.

“What the _fuck_ –“

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god_ –“

“Isak, what the hell is that –“

“I don’t understand –“

“Is it real? Is it actually real?”

“Isak, what – I don’t, I –“

“ _It doesn’t matter_!” It tears out of Isak’s throat, all guttural and anguished and Isak’s hands are curled up into fists. The palm with the cut hurts from it, but he can’t stop. His hands are shaking and so is his voice and so is his entire body, keyed up on adrenaline and pure terror.

It makes them all quiet down again, but now it seems like the words won’t stop pouring out of Isak’s mouth. Just a repeated slew of _it doesn’t matter_ ’s that doesn’t answer any of their questions and doesn’t help Isak one bit either.

“ _How_ does it not _matter_?” Mahdi sounds angry. Isak sees Jonas out of the corner of his eye sending Mahdi a warning glance, like he should be careful how he speaks to _Isak_ when Isak is the one who has been lying all along.

“It doesn’t,” is all Isak seems to be able to say. He isn’t shouting anymore. As quickly as all the rage had been built up, the fight rushes out of his body, leaving him deflated and woozy. He’s still breathing too quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Jonas isn’t touching his shoulder anymore. As heavy as it had felt, like Isak’s knees were threatening to boggle under the added weight, as unsettling and rejecting does it feel to be let go of, to be standing on his own two feet, suddenly very, very alone.

No one is saying anything. Magnus’ computer screen is still facing Isak. Isak can’t stand to look at it, but he can’t figure out how to tell Magnus to turn it away either.

“You’re marri-“ Magnus starts, but Isak interrupts him harshly.

“Don’t. Just, _don’t_.” He wants to curl his hands around the countertop to help support him, to keep him standing, but he can’t figure out how to uncurl his hands from the fists they’d formed into, even as he isn’t even clenching them so harshly that they’re shaking anymore.

Magnus is frowning where he’s still sitting at the kitchen table. “I don’t understand.”

Isak doesn’t either. He hasn’t understood anything for a long time.

 _Please_ , he wants to beg. _Please, just forget about all of it, erase it from your minds, from the internet_ , but he can’t get his mouth to cooperate. Even if he could, it wouldn’t work. He can’t change the past – not the one that happened five years ago when he first met Even, and not the one that happened five minutes ago when everybody found out about it.

Magnus keeps wording the sentence soundlessly before it apparently makes enough sense for him to try verbally again. “You’re _mar_ -“

“ _Please_!” Isak’s voice breaks and he feels like his legs might give out from underneath him.

“You’re – you’re – to _Even_ –“

“Just don’t, stop,” the pleas are rushing out of Isak’s mouth, but Magnus just continues going over and over it without actually getting any of the words out.

Mahdi is shuffling between his two feet from where he’s standing next to him on his left, but Jonas is standing stock-still, gaze unwavering from Isak. It makes him feel like he might be going out of his own skin from how uncomfortable he is, but also like his mind is so overworked that he can’t handle this small thing on top of everything else that his mind is slowly shutting down.

“This is why,” Mahdi mutters, just loudly enough that Isak can hear him over Magnus’ ranting. “ _This_ is _why_.”

He repeats it one more time, like it’s the answer to every question Mahdi has ever asked, and Isak thinks that maybe it is, but that only makes something disgusting curl in on itself in his stomach.

“I can’t believe you’ve been – _this entire time_ and with – with _Even_ none the less!” Magnus is still going on.

 _But I’m not_ , Isak thinks he should say, because he _isn’t_ , hasn’t been for a long time now. With every word that comes out of Magnus’ mouth, Isak feels a part of him give up. He’s been fighting for so long, and now it’s all been in vain, because everyone knows now. _Everyone knows_.

Isak doesn’t cry. He thinks he might’ve forgotten how to, he’s spent so long forcing himself not to after all. Now all he’s left with is a blissfully terrifying numbness that’s only ever overpowered by an encompassing anxiousness.

“It doesn’t matter,” it sounds too small. Mahdi snorts, unimpressed.

“Of course it _fucking matters_ ,” Mahdi swears. Isak might’ve flinched had he not felt like he’s not currently in control of his own body. The only thing he actually feels are his cheeks and his neck, which feel freezing compared to the heat filling his cheeks. “Why would it fucking _not_?”

“Because it doesn’t!” Isak tries to put more power behind his words, but he can’t tell if he succeeds. He sounds like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum, just repeating the same words over and over again. “It doesn’t matter, so can we just forget about it?”

He goes to leave again, but Mahdi steps in front of him so quickly Isak can only flinch and fall backwards into the counter again.

“We really _can’t_ ,” Mahdi sounds mean, and if there’s one thing Mahdi isn’t, it’s _mean_. Isak can’t seem to draw in his next breath. “Because there’s a picture in an _official article_ that mentions you by _name_ that says that you’re –“

“It doesn’t –“ Isak tries again, but Mahdi doesn’t let him.

“It _does_! You’re _marr_ -“

“I’m not!” There are tears threatening to prickle in the corners of his eyes despite how numb Isak still feels. His heart feels like it’s permanently lodged in his throat, keeping him from breathing properly no matter how badly he tries. “I’m not, I’m _not_ –“

Magnus’ brows are furrowed. “So it’s lying –“

“I’m _not_ ,” Isak tries again. “It doesn’t fucking matter, any of it, because I’m not – we’re not – we haven’t been for years! I signed the papers and everything and it doesn’t –“

He can’t get the last _it doesn’t matter_ out. Isak doesn’t think it actually makes a difference based on the stricken looks on the boys’ faces at that confession. Mahdi looks like he might want to cry, and Magnus is looking so terribly confused, and Jonas seems to be looking at him in pure horror. It makes everything hurt _worse_.

His body is slowly starting to prickle to life again. It hurts and Isak hadn’t thought he could feel more pain than what he’d already been feeling. There’s something cold pressed into his hand, and Isak looks down to see he’s still holding the paper towel, pressed together and nearly wrung out from how hard he’d been clenching around it.

“That’s what’s been going on,” Magnus says, almost apologetically, except he doesn’t look it. “That’s why you’ve been –“

 _It doesn’t matter_ , Isak wants to shout, but he doesn’t. His throat and chest feel too tight for him to say much of anything.

“Holy shit,” Mahdi shakes his head and repeats it. “Holy _shit_.”

The paper towel feels like a sad, wet clump, slowly falling apart in his hand already. Isak shouldn’t be able to relate to a _paper towel_.

“You’re sad,” Jonas breathes out, like it’s a big revelation. It’s the first thing he’s said since he’d dragged Isak back from his attempted escape.

Isak wants to laugh, because, _duh_ , but he fears he might let out a sob instead, so he just grits out an “ _I’m fine_ ,” because he’s supposed to be at this point, it’s been so long, and hopes that’s the end of this discussion.

It isn’t. Jonas looks even _worse_ after that. They all do.

“Why have you never said anything?” Mahdi asks, but it gets drowned out by Magnus talking at the same time.

“Since when are you gay?” Magnus asks and _that_ – _that_ was the question Isak had always dreaded to hear. He doesn’t actually know what to do now when it’s finally been asked.

“Magnus!” Jonas hisses. “You can’t just ask that!”

“Figured you would’ve been paying a bit more attention to the _Even_ -part, anyway,” Mahdi mutters and Isak can’t look at either of them.

Magnus shrugs. “We’re all a little bit gay for Even Bech Næsheim.”

It startles a laugh out of him, or maybe not, because the noise that comes out of his mouth is a little too wet, too desperate, too raw to really be a laugh. It makes everyone look like they’re so impossibly out of their wits, but Isak can hardly focus on it, because – _this is it_.

This is the moment he’s been dreading, the one he’s had nightmares about or the one he’s been unable to sleep because he’d spend the night worrying instead. This is it.

And Isak isn’t ready for it.

“I can’t,” Isak stutters out, gasping in a breath that seems too out of place with how little he’d actually said, but it’s like there’s no air left inside of him. “I need to –“

He stumbles to his left, barely managing to right himself before he barrels into Mahdi.

Mahdi reaches out for him, like he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to catch him or if he’s supposed to stop him from leaving, but he steps back when Isak nearly manages to fall over again from avoiding being touched by him.

“Wait!” Magnus stands up so quickly the chair nearly falls backwards before it manages to right itself. “Don’t leave, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –“

Jonas tries to reach out to touch his shoulder again, but aborts the movement so his hands are just hanging midair. He must’ve been able to see something on Isak’s face that the _last_ thing he wants right now is to be touched.

“Sorry,” Jonas says, and Isak doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. “We won’t say anything about it again, just – please don’t run away again, okay?”

But Isak can’t – he can’t stay in this flat, he can’t be here right now. He can’t stand having to look his _best friends_ in the eye and know that not only do they now know he’s been lying to them, they _know_.

“I can’t be here,” Isak stumbles over the words and tries to curl in on himself, despite how he feels like he’s only a couple of inches tall right now.

They all look a little more broken at that.

“I promise we won’t talk about it. Why don’t we just go into the living room, sit down for a little bit? I _promise_ we won’t –“

He doesn’t get to finish, because Isak _can’t_ – he can’t stay, he can hardly breathe, hasn’t known how to do that for so long now. If he can’t even figure out how to _breathe_ he doesn’t feel ready to figure out how to _stay_.

He can’t even look at them properly. They all look so hurt and it’s all Isak’s fault, and he knows he should feel worse about it, but all he’s feeling is the looping panic of _they know_.

“I can’t _be here_ ,” Isak repeats more firmly. It makes Jonas’ mouth snap shut so quickly Isak almost would’ve thought he was angry, but he just looks like he doesn’t know what to do.

Mahdi looks like he wants to argue, but Magnus gets there first.

“Where do you want to go, then?”

Three heads snap over to look at him, but Magnus doesn’t seem fazed, doesn’t move his attention away from Isak.

Magnus sighs. “I – _we_ can’t have you run out on us again, alright? I’ve been constantly _terrified_ that I’ll do something to make you run again and that will be the last time we ever see you,” Magnus looks out the window. Isak feels even heavier without his gaze on him. “So just – if you want to leave, fine, but I can’t – just let us know where you’re going and if – _when_ you’re coming back.”

 _If_. The _if_ repeats itself in Isak’s head. _If, if, if_.

Somehow, despite everything else that’s going on, it’s that _if_ that makes him tear up.

“Eskild’s,” tumbles out of Isak’s mouth before he can even think about it. It’s his default answer, has been for years, ever since they met, that if he’s in trouble he’ll go to Eskild’s. “I’ll go to Eskild’s.”

Jonas sighs, but nods, even as he looks like it’s the _last_ thing he wants. Mahdi and Magnus don’t look particularly fond of letting him out of their sights either, but they don’t say anything when Jonas fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and hands it over to Isak.

“Here,” he says. He stretches his arm out so he won’t have to move closer. “Just call him up, tell him you’re coming. Do you have his number?”

Isak’s hand is shaking when he reaches out to grab the phone. He sees how they all notice, but then they all divert their attention away from it.

He’s got the number memorized, had spent ages tracing over it, both the numbers and the pattern on a phone, back when he’d first gotten the number and had been terrified someone would gain access to his phone and leaf through it, discovering an odd contact.

Eskild picks up on the fourth ring.

“ _Hello_?” he sounds cautious and Isak barely registers that it’s from having an unknown number call him.

“H-hey,” Isak has to clear his throat, has to do _something_ to stop feeling like he’s about to burst out crying just at the sound of Eskild’s voice. “It’s me.”

“ _Isak?_ ” Eskild sounds more urgent now, and Isak can hear things moving around in the background, like Eskild’s getting ready to leave, ready to come get him. Isak doesn’t think he’s ever deserved having Eskild in his life. “ _Are you okay? What’s going on?_ ”

“Can I –“ Isak pinches his eyes closed. It’s only a matter of time before Eskild finds out anyway, Isak should be the one to tell him.

But the words won’t come out of his mouth. He never figured out _how_ to say the words, he isn’t ready, never has been.

“Can I come over? Are you home?” he asks instead.

Isak barely waits for Eskild’s affirmation before he just about throws the phone back in Jonas’ hand and tails it out of there, going to grab his coat. Mahdi follows behind, just to check that he’s actually putting on his shoes before he leaves. They can still hear Eskild’s voice over the phone, rambling, even if the words aren’t distinguishable.

“Hello?” Jonas says, finally turning the phone the right way up so he can talk. “Eskild? Yeah, Isak is leaving now. It’s, uh – it’s a bit complicated.”

Isak wants to snort as he stuffs his feet into his shoes. His hands are still shaking when he tries to unlock the door. Mahdi has to come over and do it for him. It makes Isak feel so useless and so desperate and just so much _worse_ overall.

“You should probably look it up before he gets there.” Is the last thing Isak hears before the door smacks shut behind him. “Just google –“

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t have a key to the Kollektiv anymore. Hadn’t really had one when he’d lived there, either. He’d been using a spare of Eskild’s, his backup plan for if he ever lost his keys whilst he was at work. It had made Isak feel good that technically that meant _Isak_ was now Eskild’s backup plan, was how Eskild had explained it to him, with a large smile and a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

Jonas is waiting by the foot of the stairs patiently, waiting to make sure Isak doesn’t… run off or get himself hurt, or just gets there safely. He’s out of Isak’s sight, but Isak can still hear him there, had heard him all of the way over.

He rings the doorbell again, but Eskild gets to the door first, so Isak just has to hear the melody play out clearly without the door serving as a barrier.

“Isak,” Eskild breathes out. He’s slumping down where he’s standing in the open doorway, like seeing Isak in front of him made someone cut off the strings holding him up. “ _Isak_.”

And Isak can’t handle how desperate Eskild sounds, how desperately sad and desperately _hurt_. Isak lets out an involuntary equally hurt whine and throws himself at Eskild.

Eskild ends up fumbling to grab onto the door so he won’t fall from the impact, but once he’s gained his balance his arms fold around Isak and hold on to him so tightly it hurts to breathe.

Eskild pulls him in and hugs him so tightly it hurts to breathe, but it feels _so good_. It feels like how it should feel getting a hug from his mom, if she’d ever hugged him that is. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. It doesn’t matter and this is better anyway.

They stand there for ages. Isak wants to sob, but it’s the first time in ages he feels like he can breathe. Maybe it’s just because he always knew he would be able to do that with Eskild.

“Why did you never tell me?” And _fuck_ , Eskild’s _hurt_ , Isak made _Eskild hurt_.

It’s all everybody wants to know, _why didn’t he say anything_ , but what would he even have said? _Hey, do you remember how I’ve denied being gay the entire time I’ve known you? Well, guess what!_

“I couldn’t,” he chokes out, his throat tightening. “I couldn’t, I –“

Isak feels a sob threatening to burst out of his throat. Maybe Eskild can sense it, because he brings him inside the apartment and shuts the front door behind him. The _click_ of the lock and the _slam_ of the door sound final.

**_ Past _ **

Even borrows his parents’ car, a grey thing that looks older than it is, without Isak knowing about it, or knowing _why_ he does it.

It’s still early in the morning when Even texts him to go outside. Isak had immediately replied with an _ugh_ with too many of every letter to tell Even how _not_ amused he was at the prospect of wandering down four flights of stairs just to come down and kiss Even good morning – something he could do, mind you, if Even actually just came _home_ or hadn’t left the bed at arse-o’clock in the morning.

But because Isak is a good _fiancée_ , he walks down every flight of stairs with every intention of bitching Even out before dragging him back inside to kiss him.

It’s close to stifling already outside, even as Isak is only standing in joggers and a t-shirt. There’s no breeze to take the brunt of the heat. It’ll be horrible later in the day when their apartment will start slowly cooking them.

He doesn’t see Even until the honking startles him. He whips towards the direction of the sound and sees Even behind the wheel, window rolled down and left arm hanging halfway out. He’s grinning widely at Isak, but Isak sees the strain to it, right in the corner of his mouth, revealing the slight tension there is to him. He’s also wearing his sunglasses, so Isak can’t see his eyes and make out what he’s really feeling.

“Hey, there,” Even drawls dramatically, doing an exaggerated nod of his head like he’s checking Isak out. It’s dumb and it’s stupid and it still makes Isak flush and giggle like a schoolgirl. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

‘ _A place like this_ ’ is in fact in front of their apartment complex in Oslo in one of the cheaper areas, but by no means not well-respected. That’s not the point, though, so Isak leans his weight against the car, forcing Even to bodily turn around in his seat to keep looking at him.

“Oh, mister, I’m terribly lost,” he plays it up, batting his eyelashes until Even has to fight to keep the laugh down. “Can you help me?”

“Sure thing, sweetcheeks,” except it’s done in an American accent, and ‘ _thing_ ’ sounds more like ‘ _thang_ ’, making Isak snort. Even grins and nods towards the passenger seat. “Hop on in; I’ll give you the ride of your life.”

“What, the car or your dick?”

“Isak!” Even admonishes playfully, playing up the faux-offence by gaping disbelievingly. It’s _stupid_ and Isak is still _grinning_.

“Where’d you get this thing, anyway?” Isak pats the part where Even’s window refuses to roll down entirely. Even catches his fingers and brings them casually to his lips.

There’s no one around. They both know this, they’ve both checked. It still makes Isak’s heart pound faster for not all the right reasons.

“Borrowed it from my parents.” Even looks down at where he carefully places Isak’s fingers back on the window. He doesn’t look back up at Isak’s face, and the tension is back at the corner of his mouth, in the line of his shoulders. “They think I’m taking the boys for a trip.”

Isak feels immensely guilty. It bowls over him, leaving him feeling off-kilter and vaguely disgusted with himself for not being better, being more right.

He knows it’s always been a strain on Even to lie to his parents like he is – maybe not at first, when they were trying it out, or when they decided they were official. But ever since they moved in together and Even had to tell his parents they had to call before coming over so they could mask the fact Even wasn’t living alone in a one-bedroom apartment, Even has tended to isolate himself from his parents, and it’s wearing him down. He won’t tell Isak that, but Isak can tell without Even saying the words.

“And what are we _actually_ doing?” Isak asks, but he doesn’t wait for Even to answer before he walks in front of the hood, crossing to the other side of the car and slides into the passenger seat.

Even’s eyes are soft, his whole expression practically screaming _fond_ , which makes Isak squirm slightly in his seat from butterflies flapping around in his stomach. Isak prompts Even to start talking by lightly puffing Even with his shoulder.

“It’s not quite a white limo Tesla,” Even grins crookedly, but there’s an apologetic twinge to it and the tension still hasn’t left him entirely.

Isak reaches over for him, rubs his thumb along the corner of his mouth until the downward curl of it smoothes out. “I don’t need a Tesla,” he tells him, because he doesn’t. “I’d much rather just get to have you.”

He can tell Even wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t. As the time comes closer to nine, people start showing up, and it’s a regular car with no tint to the windows.

“You just want me because I can drive this thing,” Even teases instead, patting the steering wheel.

“I got into this deathtrap for you, the _least_ you can do is maneuver it around. Which reminds me, what are we doing?”

“Ah!” Even holds up a finger, mock-serious expression on his face as he signals for Isak to wait – which he does, _skeptically_.

Even undoes his seatbelt with a _click_ , and then contorts his body weirdly in a twist to reach onto the backseat. Isak can’t tell what he’s doing, but he can hear the crinkle of something – paper? – confirmed when Even thrusts a stack of papers into his hands.

“Here you go!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes sparkling, and for a second he’s so captivating Isak literally, despite the immense curiosity, can’t look away from him.

The papers are still neat and pressed, only slightly wavy from the ink of the large pictures having long dried.

“What –“ Isak trails off as his eyes skim over the first paper in the stack. A photograph takes up more than half of the first page, depicting a rather idyllic place, taken from the terrace of some house, cabin maybe, Isak presumes, showing the horizon of clear water and typical Norwegian nature of rocks, cliffs, and trees. You can just see two chairs and a small table in the foreground, but it’s obvious the nature is supposed to be the selling point.

On the remaining part of the paper, there’s text, starting with a greeting and a _thank you for booking_ which makes Isak’s heart rate pick up exponentially.

He skips over the text, goes straight to the next picture – a bedroom, white sheets and a window letting in what appears to be morning light – and the next picture – a small kitchen connected to a dining area – to the next picture – the living room with more couches and chairs than Isak and Even will be able to fill. Isak goes back to the _thank you for booking!_ and looks for a date, a place, any indication of _what the hell is Even up to_.

Today. It’s booked from _today_. A couple of hours away from Oslo, the distance manageable even if they would’ve had to do it by bus.

“What is this?” he looks up at Even, then back down at the papers because he can’t believe it, then back up at Even because he _can’t believe it_.

Even is _truly_ grinning by now. “Well,” he starts, trying to appear suave and not succeeding at all, “I was thinking it might be a really great honeymoon spot.”

Isak’s heart _stops_. He thinks his hands might be shaking, his entire body is.

When he manages to look up from the papers, Even is already holding up his phone, showing the e-mail that they’ve got a slot at Oslo’s City Hall _today_.

Isak is out of his seat before his brain catches up.

He leaps across the gear stick to get to Even, only taking enough care not to accidentally brain him or knock him out in his haste. He hears the papers crinkle alarmingly and distantly hopes there was nothing essential on them that can’t be salvaged by a bit of smoothing out.

Even is laughing and wrapping his arms around Isak, drawing him in closer. It’s a bit awkward, seeing as Isak’s legs are too long and also a bit stuck at the footrest of the passenger’s seat, the rest of his body draped over Even’s. He never wants to let go.

“Are you serious?” he asks, voice muffled a bit from where his mouth is pressing against Even’s shoulder.

Even laughs. “One hundred percent, baby.”

Isak doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels too light and too heavy and too full and he’s so in fucking love. He can literally feel his brain not able to process everything that’s happening, can feel his body reacting to the shock of it. His eyes start watering, his shoulders shaking. He sniffles.

Even twitches. “Are you crying?”

Isak doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s smiling, the asshole.

“It’s allergies,” Isak protests, presses his face harder against Even’s shoulder, his tears probably wetting the fabric, but if Even tries to make fun of him, Isak will tell him it’s snot.

Even laughs, loudly and unapologetic, his entire body shaking underneath Isak. It’s familiar and comforting, and it might even make Isak cry harder.

“To weddings?” Even finally manages to ask. “Or just your own?”

Had it been anyone else Isak would’ve been annoyed with them, but he hears the teasing in Even’s lilt and his arms are holding him tightly against his chest, hands gentle as he rubs his back.

If they ever are to tell anyone, which Isak sincerely doubts, he’ll make sure Even won’t mention this part.

Knowing Even, he’ll specifically do it just to get Isak huffy so he can kiss him sweet and pliant.

“Weddings,” Isak answers, drawing back and wiping shyly at his eyes. Even is staring at him like he never wants to see anything else the rest of his life. “But my own might be an exception.”

Even grins, his hands smoothing up and down Isak’s sides. “Should we go check, then?”

A laugh bubbles out of Isak’s throat, a bit wet and it makes a few more tears spill over and down his cheeks. He nods, keeps nodding until Even is laughing and nodding as well, leaning forward until their noses brush. Isak doesn’t even have it in him to check if anyone’s nearby, can’t look anywhere else than at Even.

It’s the first time they kiss in public when the sun is shining and they’re not tucked away in an alley or behind a shed in the bushes.

“I’m always serious about you,” Even tells him when he pulls back. His eyes are wet too. “And I seriously want to marry you. Today.”

Isak grins, presses another peck to Even’s mouth. “Let’s go do this, then.”

OOOOO

Even is the only one who has a full suit – or, something close to a full suit, the jacket a little too modern and wonky to fit formal wear outside an artistic gathering. By the time they make it to City Hall it’s too hot to wear a jacket anyway, which leaves them wearing chinos, Even in a white button-down and Isak in a grey button-down with short sleeves.

They’re both hot and sweaty, lungs hurting from laughing whilst running from the parking space they’d gotten ages away and through the hallways so they wouldn’t miss their appointment.

The officiator doesn’t bat an eye at the two of them being boys, but he does look surprised and then pitiful at the completely empty hall that he has to perform the ceremony for. The guilt churns around in his stomach when Isak forces himself not to think about Eskild, whom he knows would not only be happy to witness but happy _for him_ – once he got over the shock of _never having been told_. He knows Even’s thinking the same about his own friends, his _parents_. They’ve both got people they want to be here, they’ve just… never told them.

They end up pulling two secretaries on their lunch break in to witness. They’re two elder ladies, and one’s smile reminds Isak of his mother so much from when she was well, when she still recognized him, that he almost wants to give her a hug.

It’s a quick ceremony, only a little more than ten minutes. The remaining paperwork doesn’t take nearly as long as the initial paperwork had, and then –

Even’s eyes are sparkling, Isak knows his own are too. God. _God_. And then they’re _married_.

It’s the first time in – _ever_ that Isak doesn’t care who is watching, that there are now essentially three strangers who know about him, who know about him and Even, and he _doesn’t care_ because he’s _married_ and he’s going to _kiss Even_.

He nearly tackles Even with how he bodily throws himself at him, but Even had been prepared and only laughs as he wraps his arms around Isak’s body, holds him close and leans down so he can kiss him again.

No one throws rice at them since it isn’t allowed, but Isak doesn’t mind. Can’t really seem to mind when Even is holding his hand right until they get to the entrance, and then they’re both running again to get back to the car, to get to whatever Even has planned, to get to be _alone_ , for Isak to get to kiss his _husband_.

The car ride takes simultaneously longer and quicker than it should to get to the cabin – Even is driving just a bit too fast, not enough to make Isak anxious, but enough that he gains time, but then they have to pull over at rest stops or park behind gas stations just to laugh or press their lips together or be _married_.

It’s well into the evening by the time they get there. Their legs are tired from being cramped up for so long, so they park down by the beach instead of by the cabin.

“What’s all this, then?” Isak keeps looking at the scenery, then back to Even, then back on the beach, back to Even again.

It’s windy. His hair keeps getting pushed down in front of his eyes. Even is holding both of his hands, though, so he can’t brush it away.

It’s not important, anyway. He can see Even clearly. Can see him smiling and his eyes, bright and blue and happy and Isak fills giddy with it, even with the confusion.

“Your beach story,” Even tells him, finally stops walking backwards but keeps pulling Isak towards him until they’re pushed together and it’s easy to lean down and kiss him.

The cabin is as lovely as it had been on the photos. It’s the exact same, but with a larger deck than Isak had thought it would have. They sit there, eating pizza that’s lukewarm with how much time has passed since they picked it up at the closest pizzeria.

The cabin itself is secluded, hidden away in a corner of the universe that Isak and Even are taking for themselves. There are other cabins nearby, they both know, but they can’t see any from where they are.

So when the sun is setting, the last rays reflecting in the water, the sky colored pink and yellow and orange, a few crusts scattered around in the cardboard box all that’s left of the pizza, Isak doesn’t hesitate to climb into Even’s lap and kiss him.

The wind is colder than it’s been all day with the night settling in, but Even is a warm heat pressed against Isak’s chest, between his thighs, his hands warm as they slip underneath Isak’s t-shirt and roam across his back.

Their lips smack against each other’s a lot louder than they’ve ever dared to before when not hidden away under covers or behind locked doors. It’s liberating. Isak feels like he could float away right where he is, would spend an eternity right here in this moment if the universe would let them.

“I love you,” Even whispers, the words broken apart by their lips. Isak is too busy enthusiastically kissing him to say it back, so he says it with soft touches, with his thumb smoothing down along the curve of Even’s eyebrow, down to his cheekbones.

 _I love you, too_ he screams in his head. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

Isak gets lost in Even. Can’t remember that he’d already started undressing him before they got inside until the next day when they find Even’s belt and button-down next to the now empty cardboard box that’s been picked clean of pizza by the birds and any other creatures to have passed by. All he remembers is Even, Even, Even.

Even kissing him; his mouth, his neck, his chest, his thighs. Even inside of him. Even crying as he tells Isak he loves him, that he’s so fucking happy.

They wake up in a bed with messed up white sheets, the sun shining in because neither of them had thought about drawing the curtains.

It’s stupidly early because of the Norwegian sunrises, so they just lie there for ages, lips moving over lips lazily until they drift off. When Isak wakes up again, Even’s lips are smushed against his cheek, his nose scrunches up periodically every time Isak blinks, his eyelashes tickling Even’s skin.

He giggles as it happens, then has to kiss Even awake. From there it’s easy to roll onto his back, pulling Even along with him until Even can sink in where Isak is still wet and open from last night.

They spend long mornings in bed. Then Even makes them scrambled eggs, and Isak distracts him by ‘ _apparently_ ’ eating berries _suggestively_ , which Isak will deny until the day he dies, so they don’t actually end up eating before the eggs have gone cold. They’re still good, though.

They go down to the beach, they sit on the rocks, messing around, they explore their surroundings without going too far to risk accidentally bumping into anyone else, bursting the bubble they’re in.

Even films them for a bit, just small tidbits. Tells Isak that one day he’ll use it in the greatest film he’ll ever make, the one about Isak.

Isak blushes and tells Even he’s an idiot, and any movie he’d make about Isak would be a pompous piece of shit that Isak can’t have associated with his name, it would be slander. Even laughs and kisses him quiet as Isak tries not to think about how Even is currently giving him the story he promised him over the phone years ago by now. A story on the beach. One that isn’t sad, one where the two people in love do end up together. That means more to Isak than anything else.

All in all, Isak can’t imagine a better honeymoon. Has to kiss Even until his lips are swollen and numb whenever he thinks it.

They don’t exchange rings.

Neither of them really wears any rings anyway, but wearing one on their ring finger can only mean one thing, and they still don’t know how to answer people’s questions were they to ask, “ _Oh? Who’s your wife?_ ”

Instead, Even makes Isak a flower crown out of dandelions that’s quite shoddy at best, and a few petals and leaves keep falling off, but Isak _loves it_ and can’t stop smiling. That romantic fool, of course he had to make a subtle reference to how they met.

Isak slips Even a little note that’s folded in half. Even’s eyes are shiny when he reads the single sentence Isak has written.

 _This will be epic all on its own_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to afuturewithme for seeing right through me and calling me out on wanting to create max-angst. To answer your suspicion as to whether or not I would have the press reveal everything rather than Isak reaching out for help and admitting his secrets to his friends:
> 
>  _I would_. Your distrust of me was well-placed.
> 
> Also, legal inaccuracies ahoy. In Norway, there's _a lot_ of paperwork to do before you're allowed to get married - I've completely ignored the forlovererklæring (filled out by a person who knows you) as no one knows about Isak and Even. It be like that sometimes.
> 
> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/622966130681757697/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Everyone knows! Absolutely nothing could be bad about that and get in the way of Isak to talking about it with his friends!  
> ... _right?_
> 
> This chapter features a balanced character inclusion between the present and past along with shameless references to the OG show. I couldn't not.
> 
> The past was written to "Forever" by Lewis Capaldi, but the content fits way better with "Architecture" by Maisie Peters, so it's a little odd I didn't use that song when writing considering how much I'd listen to it to get in the mood to write at all. Editing!me also found out that "If the World Was Ending" by JP Saxe ft. Julia Michaels is a perfect fit to the ending of the present.
> 
> Also, it's quite fitting that we hit 100k with this chapter :)

**_ Present _ **

Even’s gone back to America by now, leaving _Isak_ to deal with this entire goddamn mess.

When he’d left the flat for Eskild’s, the news had only just broken and no one had had time to react to anything yet. When he gets back, it’s different. It’s so, very, different.

Isak hasn’t even turned onto their street before the first flash hits his eyes. When he looks up, it’s to see a hoard of photographers, and it’s a matter of seconds before all of them are aware of his presence. The flashes burn in his eyes and he can’t think from all of the yelling.

All of the yelling, asking if he’s Isak Valtersen, since when is Even gay, about Even’s relationship with Sonja, about why they kept their marriage secret, invasive questions about their marriage and calling out rude names to get Isak to react.

He feels dizzy. He’s so, so dizzy and the world is simultaneously too loud and a quiet buzz around him as he tries to fight his way to his front door.

“Let me through,” he thinks he’s muttering, but he can’t hear his own voice. “I need to get home, let me through.”

They don’t move, but Isak must manage to push his way through, because the next thing he knows, he’s standing by the entrance to the apartment complex and he’s typing in the code and the door is buzzing to let him through.

It slams shut behind him as Isak falls up the stairs, grabbing onto the railing. He both sees and hears the flashes going off behind him, but he does his best to ignore them.

His best isn’t good enough. It’s never good enough.

His hands are shaking when he fishes his key out of his pocket. He can’t get it into the hole and he _hates_ that the only thing he can think is that if Even, _his_ Even, saw him miss, he’d already be wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he refrained from saying the joke out loud.

The flat is empty. It feels suffocating to be there all by himself.

Isak glances at the clock – Magnus, Mahdi, and Jonas all have lectures now. Technically, Isak does as well. Shit, he should probably text Sana to apologize for skipping, but his phone is dead from the influx of messages he’s been getting that he doesn’t have the courage to check any of.

He ends up curling up right there in the hallway. He slides down the wall slowly until his bum finally hits the ground, and then he just stays there. It the only place in the entire flat that has no windows, the only place he can hide away exactly how he wants to.

His room isn’t even safe – Isak can’t remember if he’s drawn the curtains or not, but he isn’t willing to go check, just in case they aren’t. It’s too big of a gamble when Isak can’t tell what will happen to him if he sees another camera flashing before his eyes.

The reporters are only there because it’s a sensation right now. It’s only made worse the award show is happening this week and Even’s movie is one of the most spoken about. All of it is just bad timing, and Isak just has to _survive_ the next couple of weeks and then it’ll be done.

But, it won’t be.

Isak is out. Isak’s been _outed_ , that will never be done. From now on, he’ll always be the boy who was married to a guy. The boy who was married to Even Bech Næsheim.

Everyone knows. They _know_.

OOOOO

“What a fucking circus,” Jonas swears and Isak flinches. It’s his fault, it’s all his fault that the photographers and journalists are there – or, not his fault entirely, because he hadn’t blabbed. “Are the curtains drawn?”

Isak has to lick his lips before he can separate them. “Dunno,” he whispers. His voice won’t work. _Just hid away out here_ , he wants to say, but nothing comes out.

Jonas looks desperately sad when he falters on his way into the living room. Mahdi ends up being the one to push past him to walk around every room in the flat and draw all of their curtains shut.

“Magnus,” Mahdi calls from inside Isak’s room. “Grab my extra set of sheets – no, they’re in my closet, why would they be in my _desk_ \- doesn’t matter. Grab them, would you? And help me put them up in the kitchen.”

Magnus walks into the kitchen nearly tripping over Mahdi’s sheets when he tries to unfold them and walk at the same time. Jonas is still just _standing_ there, looking at Isak like he’s falling apart right there in front of his eyes and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Isak thinks he might be looking at Jonas like he’s his executioner.

Jonas slowly bends down onto his knees opposite of Isak. He’s so slow and careful with his movements, with Isak, and Isak can still hear the shouting and the clicking and see the flashes in front of his eyes even if it’s all in his head, can still hear the shouted questions about his sexuality, about Even’s sexuality, demeaning comments about Isak’s _marriage_ , the only thing he’d been so proud of for so long before it had come crashing down around him.

“Breathe,” Jonas tells him. He’s already halfway across the hall to reach for Isak. “Isak, you need to breathe.”

“Can’t,” Isak gasps. He can’t, he _can’t breathe_. He’s going to die right there in his hallway in his flat where he’d thought his life would finally come back around, except it has come so much back around it’s turned a full 360 degrees and he’s right back at the start with Even being the centre of everything.

“You can,” Jonas insists. He’s touching Isak’s shoulder, but Isak can’t feel it. He can’t feel anything and he can’t breathe.

“I don’t get it!” Isak hears Mahdi yell from the kitchen. “Yes, he’s a famous director, but, fuck me, he isn’t Michael Bay or Christopher Nolan or anything!”

“You take that back!” Magnus chastises followed by a slap. Normally, Isak would wonder who slapped who, but he can’t because he can’t breathe and Jonas is still just looking at him, impossibly sad.

“Would you two shut up?” Jonas yells at them. There’s a bit of a high pitch to his tone that reveals just how panicked he is about this. He doesn’t look away from Isak. “Isak, you need to calm down and _breathe_.”

“What’s going on?” Magnus asks. Isak hears steps coming closer and he can’t, he can’t have them see him like this, not when he can’t breathe, when he’s slowly dying.

Mahdi hesitates when he sees Isak on the ground and Jonas kneeling in front of him. “Isak?” he asks softly. He sounds scared.

“Not now,” Jonas snaps before he goes back to reminding Isak he needs to breathe.

Isak’s arms flail around as he tries to grab onto something tangible, something firm that could help him keep afloat, keep him from drowning. Jonas reaches his hand out so one of Isak’s own collides with his arm. He lets him dig his nails into his skin without a wince and Isak wants to thank him, but he can’t when he can’t fucking breathe.

There are spots dancing around in his frame of vision, and Isak can’t help but think this is it, this is the moment he dies, because he’s dying, he can feel it.

“ _Shit_ ,” someone, Magnus, swears and then there are more hands in front of him, but these ones circle his own wrists instead. “Isak, you’re going to be fine.”

 _Am not_ , Isak wants to tell him, but he can’t fucking breathe, doesn’t have the air to do so.

“You’re panicking, that’s all it is.”

“Can’t breathe,” Isak wheezes. Objectively, he knows Magnus is kneeling right in front of him, but he can’t quite see him.

“You can,” Magnus sounds far calmer than he has any right to be. Isak’s fucking _dying_. “You can breathe, do it with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he keeps repeating, slow and steady.

It takes ages before it feels like Isak has even taken _one_ breath, but as soon as he has Magnus changes tactics and starts telling him he needs to hold his breath for a second, two seconds, three seconds, before he lets it out again.

It helps, and after about a couple dozen or so inhalations and exhalations, Isak can see Magnus sitting in front of him, can feel his fingers around his wrists. His hands are trembling and he feels sick.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears. It comes out a bit of a garbled mess, but none of the boys laugh at him for it. They look like they agree with that sentiment quite a bit.

“What was that?” Mahdi asks. He’s still too quiet, but Isak’s still gasping and struggling to breathe normally, so he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

“Panic attack,” Magnus replies. He doesn’t look away from Isak and Isak can’t bring himself to actually look at Magnus. “How do you feel?”

It’s just, he was supposed to be better, do better this year. This was supposed to be _his_ year.

“Sick,” Isak tells him. He leaves out that he feels sick for multiple reasons. Magnus doesn’t ask, just nods and says that’s to be expected.

His nails are still digging into Jonas’ wrist. It probably hurts, but he doesn’t let go.

He still hasn’t let go by the time Jonas and Magnus have maneuvered him onto his legs. They keep shaking, and the feeling of it makes Isak feel short of breath again. He doesn’t end up letting go of Jonas before he’s been sitting on the couch for several minutes. It’s slightly awkward, because he can’t bring himself to look any of them in the eye, so he’s just staring blankly at the wall, holding on to Jonas like a child, as Magnus keeps talking inanely and Mahdi flitters around nervously, fiddling with the TV, turning the volume all the way down.

Isak spends the rest of the day on that couch.

The boys walk around as if treading too harshly will set him off again when in reality Isak feels too much like a zombie to be able to react to anything whatsoever. He’s just tired and worn-out, and his lungs still hurt from the goddamn _panic attack_.

He should text Eskild, he considers. Maybe just to do something else than stare at the TV they’ve turned on to some football match and muted the sound of. He tries to remember what Eskild had told him right before he left, the words Eskild had said was a comfort to him when everything just seemed too fucked up.

 _The world didn’t end_.

Everyone knows, and the world didn’t end.

 _No_ , the bitter part of Isak that’s rooted itself so deeply inside his heart he sometimes worries it’ll be stuck there for the rest of his life, _the world didn’t end. Just Isak’s_.

OOOOO

Sleeping gets to be impossible. Everything gets to be impossible. He spends an entire day in bed, Jonas checks up on him periodically increasingly worried each time.

Jonas doesn’t say a lot, doesn’t go further into his room than the door, and Isak knows it’s to give him space, that the panic attack had been just as scary for them as it had been for him, but there’s a part of Isak that keeps whispering it’s because Jonas _knows_ now.

Isak spends an embarrassing amount of time with his thumb hovering over the only contact in his phone that only has digits, no name. He has to go into his texts and scroll very far down to find it, his hands shaking too much to type it out manually.

He wants to call Even. As shitty as this situation is for him, Isak knows it’s also very, _very_ shitty for Even right now.

 _Isak_ can hide away under his covers with his phone turned off to ignore the close to a hundred messages he’s received – Even is nominated for an award and has to do press, has to deal with his management team from hell. Who even knows what about _Sonja_ , if she’s just part of Even’s team or if there’s something between her and Even and Even now has to explain himself for _Isak_.

His hand shakes even harder at that. He still wants to call Even, wants to hear his voice, wants to talk to someone who knows what this is like, wants to check up on him, hear if he’s alright. Wants to rewind time and make sure the article never gets published, maybe go all the way back to the Isak who’d been in love and young and _stupid_ and sure of forever and convince him there was no reason to get married when Even would leave him only a few months later.

Isak resolutely only stares at the digits, not at the last text Even had sent him, telling him to _pick up your fucking phone, right now, Isak, or –_ the rest of it too long and cut off from the preview.

Jonas comes in to check on him again. Isak shoves the phone under his pillow and pretends to be asleep.

He gets out of bed the next day, but he doesn’t leave the apartment. Doesn’t the next day either. Isak thinks of tutorials and lectures and assignments and exams, but the thought of people looking at him, of walking up to him and _asking_ about – about – _that_ makes it worth probably having to re-sit a course. Not even Sana’s notes she’s steadfastly been emailing him can save him from that fate. His degree and his three best friends had been the only two things he’s been proud of for years by now, but losing the both of them is fine. He can double up next year.

Except this won’t have gone away. He’ll still be the _guy_ who was married to a _famous guy_ next year. People will still _know_ next year. This is it. Isak just came out.

Isak still doesn’t leave the next day, but the day after that he does. He’s a lot more anonymous than he’d thought he would be, but the big hoodie and snapback he actually wears the right side front probably helps.

He still hears the whispers, though. Sees the curious looks of the few who do recognize him.

He sits all the way in the back of the lecture hall, doesn’t attend the tutorial. He studies by himself, one time with Sana in her home. They hide away in her room and strictly talk business, even as they share a pizza with halal meat, Isak double checking with the guy on the phone despite Sana ensuring him it was fine.

Isak can’t tell if it helps she’s so obviously disinterested in whether or not Isak is – whether Isak was – or if it makes him feel more on edge, like he’s just waiting for the hammer to swing down.

Everyone else around him get increasingly curious. He’s had to disable all sound notifications with how much people he can’t even recall meeting are blowing up his phone, trying to get the gossip. He accidentally left his phone out on the counter the other day – hadn’t even thought about why that was a bad idea until he saw Mahdi’s pitying look and Jonas’ obvious concern despite how much he tried to play it off. Isak doesn’t make that mistake again.

Not that it necessarily helps. It takes a while before they stop being so quiet around him, so timid, like the slightest movement will startle him. Isak _hates_ it, but there are a lot of things he hates at the moment.

He isn’t sleeping again. Spends the nights tossing and turning until he finally gets up, tries to drink some water, tries to open a window to get some air, tries different apps and watches videos about how to fall asleep.

He ends up wandering through the flat one night, just looking at all the pictures they have up. He skips the one of himself, the one where he’s sitting all by himself and isn’t smiling at the camera. He can’t stand looking at it.

It’s dark and it’s so quiet, and it almost feels threatening in a way, but also like a comfort. Isak could sink down onto his knees and hide and no one would know.

Loads of people are afraid of the dark, Isak probably used to be once, too. It’s likely it stopped, though, when the dark had been the only place he and Even had had. Then it had started to feel like a place where no one could see you, which is something Isak _really_ needs right now.

It says a lot about Isak, how stuck in his head he’s been – maybe justifiably – the last week that he hadn’t even considered _he_ isn’t the only one in this apartment who’d need the dark to hide away in, to finally breathe.

A muffled squeak sounds from Magnus’ room. Usually, Isak would hurry past and shut himself away in his own room, because Isak is _not_ witnessing that.

But Magnus’ door is ajar, and not even Magnus is that desperate to be so careless.

Isak doesn’t really mean to look, means to just walk away, but Magnus’ back is to Isak and Isak has perfect view of his laptop screen lighting up the room.

He should stop looking, before he sees a naked body or cuddling or BDSM or whatever else kind of porn Magnus is getting off to, but then Magnus makes another muffled noise and the camera pans over to the side, showing _Even_ walking in.

Oh. Not porn. An interview. With Even. That Magnus is watching in the middle of the night, because the apartment has unofficially been declared an Even-free zone so that Isak won’t bolt and they’ll never see him again.

Oh.

Isak didn’t know it would be so easy to feel even shittier than he had when he first got out of bed tonight.

Isak doesn’t recognize the host. The setting looks professional, but it doesn’t look like there’s a live-audience. It’s just a small, dark room with two chairs in the middle. It looks more like an improvised set than an established show’s usual setup with the couches and the desk and the band off to the side.

There’s no applause when Even walks on, when he sits down in one of the chairs, scoots all the way to the edge of the seat, then slowly slides back. He twists back and forth as he says something to the interviewer.

The audio is so low Isak can’t make out any of it, but he can see Even clearly.

He’s talking quickly, much quicker than usual, and Isak can hear the constant, deep hum of his voice through the speakers. The interviewer doesn’t look like he can follow him either, but he’s smiling and laughing and clearly trying to keep up.

Magnus muffles a laugh at whatever has just been said. Then has to slap his own hand over his mouth when Even jumps up, recreating some scene wildly and overdramatically. He’s smiling, but Isak can still tell that he’s serious about whatever the hell it is he’s doing. The interviewer doesn’t seem to get it, either, but Magnus finds it hilarious.

He looks… good, Isak settles for. Happy, maybe. Not quite, but a lot fucking better than Isak’s been looking. He doesn’t know why it doesn’t make him feel angry. Maybe because Even’s clearly working hard for the subject not to land on what everyone in the world seems to want to know right now, and that Even’s team probably had to field interviewers for ages before settling on someone who won’t trap Even into answering questions about _that_ despite pre-negotiated arrangements.

Maybe it’s because Isak’s been on twitter, been on the internet at all, actually, and has seen what some people are saying about them. Isak’s been able to hide away in his bed, Even doesn’t have that option.

And now, Isak’s indirectly forced Magnus to have to hide away. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. What it is he does, that means the people closest to him always to hide away from closed doors to be themselves? Him and Even being in love. Magnus being excited about the award show and wanting to see the press leading up to it. Everyone behind closed doors.

Magnus laughs again, pulling the covers over his mouth to help quiet the sounds he makes.

Isak backs away with one last look at the computer screen. Even’s back to sitting in the chair, but he keeps shuffling around, keeps looking around too, not really bothering to look at the guy asking him questions.

Isak can’t fix that. There are a lot of things he can’t fix, that he would choose to fix before making any other choices, but _this_ he can do something about.

He tippy-toes back to his own room and gets in bed. He doesn’t necessarily feel better, definitely still can’t fall asleep, but the prospect of being able to _do_ something helps.

And maybe finally doing what he set out to at the beginning of the year. To not be such a shitty person, to actually make an effort and be a good friend.

It probably won’t do Isak’s mental stability any favors, but he’ll be damned if this doesn’t at least make him a _decent_ friend.

OOOOO

He doesn’t catch Magnus alone for ages.

Isak hadn’t even noticed that Magnus might be avoiding him – or, as much ‘avoiding’ as Magnus wants to do, which isn’t a lot, but enough that he isn’t randomly bursting into his room, or wants to tell Isak about this really cool thing that he saw, or wanting advice about shit Isak isn’t qualified to give advice about.

But now that he’s _actively_ trying to talk to Magnus without backing him into a corner, it’s fairly obvious that’s what is happening here.

It honestly takes a lot more maneuvering than Isak had originally thought it would, but it probably comes down to a lot of failed attempts more than anything.

In the end it’s embarrassingly easy, seeing as all Isak had to do was join Movie Night-night on Magnus’ movie choice and Mahdi on snack duty, because Mahdi is solid when you need a hit of something, but ask him to bring chips and he’ll conveniently forget ever having met you.

So Jonas is filming him doing the _snack-walk of shame_ , which is a thing Isak had never thought would exist, but now it does and finally to his advantage.

Because Magnus was too distracted going through some random list on Netflix to notice Jonas and Mahdi leaving, and by the time he _does_ notice, it looks too obvious for him to justify leaving.

He’d watched Magnus scroll so far down through the lists on the front page, he _knows_ this isn’t a movie Magnus wants to see, because the movies Magnus likes to see are the movies that are similar to Even’s movies, but Even is a forbidden subject right now.

“So,” Magnus says to fill the silence between them. He’s fidgeting with the remote, then fidgets in his seat, then starts playing with the beer bottle. “What do you think of –“ gesturing vaguely to some movie on the screen that Isak doesn’t pay attention to.

“You don’t have to hide away in your room to watch him,” Isak drops casually instead.

It makes Magnus snap his attention over to him. He looks more chagrinned and embarrassed than anything else, and once he realizes what Isak’s saying, he can’t look him in the eyes.

“I don’t, I wasn’t –“ He stops himself with a resigned sigh. “I just –“

“It’s okay,” Isak mumbles. He feels a bit restless at having to both confront and comfort, but it also makes him feel better.

He’s had long enough to sulk about Even, it’s time he actually accomplished what he’d set out to do at the beginning of this semester; he was going to become a better friend, and he was going to be _better_.

“You have to hear about him everywhere you go,” Magnus’ voice is hushed, like they have to hide away whilst in their own home. “Everyone’s asking you about him and I just – I didn’t want you to have to hear about him when you could finally catch a break.”

Magnus twists uncomfortably in his seat, and this might be the first time Isak realizes just how sad Magnus is.

They’re all varying degrees of sad or angry or worried or, in Isak’s case, heartbroken. Jonas and Mahdi are mostly sad for Isak, for what he’s going through, for what he’s supposedly been going through all by himself, but Magnus now has to realize that he’d been bringing Even up constantly when all Isak had wanted was to get as far away from him as possible.

“Thank you.” It sounds a bit out of place, but Isak doesn’t want it to go unsaid. “But I know you’re excited, and I know the award show is coming up and that you want to see it. Just – you _can_ , and you can do it here _and_ while I’m home.”

Magnus just observes him for a beat too long, like he’s trying to figure out if Isak’s just saying it or if he actually means it.

It’ll be hard, Isak’s fully aware of that, but that doesn’t make his words any less true.

“Thank _god_ ,” Magnus groans, flops unceremoniously back onto the couch, his head resting on the back of it. “You know, I was going to rope Mahdi into taking you somewhere on Sunday so I could watch it. It was going to be a _huge_ ordeal. Are you _aware_ of just how many favors I would’ve owed him?”

Isak might be laughing so hard he ends up crying when Magnus goes over an obviously pre-made list of things Mahdi might’ve wanted him to do, one more insane than the other, when Isak’s relatively certain the most Mahdi would want was for someone else to finally clean up the mud when he and Jonas come back from football.

Or maybe he’d need help with whatever drug business he might be running under all of their noses. You never really know with Mahdi.

OOOOO

The award show actually airs Friday night, well into the morning hours of Saturday with the time difference, but Magnus doesn’t get home until Sunday afternoon because of some excursion he’s doing with his film club.

And despite them being a _film club_ , they’ve decided they’re not going to watch the yearly most anticipated award show for _films_. Isak sometimes questions what’s going on in those artsy kids’ brains.

Isak spends the night leading to Saturday awake, his mind busy wondering about Even and movies and Even’s movie in particular.

He’s seen enough bits and pieces from Magnus playing it to recognize the plot. He’d been momentarily taken aback the time Magnus had been talking about the characters’ plotline with – at – Mahdi in the kitchen, and Isak had snorted when Magnus had tried to foreshadow the ending to get Mahdi interested in watching the movie with him. When Magnus had called him out on it, Isak had been able to throw back how it wasn’t exactly subtle that the girl would end up drowning, and Magnus had gaped at him and accused him of watching the movie.

Isak had had to work quickly to throw away Magnus’ suspicion by complaining that was ‘ _just like Næsheim_ ’ to dramatically kill off his main character. Magnus had chided him and Mahdi had looked vaguely annoyed to convey how he was silently questioning why Isak couldn’t just indulge Magnus in his obsession.

Point is, Isak knows the plot. And he’s seen enough to know it looks stunning. It’s a work of art, as much as it pains him to admit, and he’s certain Even’s going to walk away with at least one trophy.

He still can’t sleep.

He spends most of Saturday napping in short intervals and getting up to go do chores. He steadfastly ignores the quickly-forming mountain of assignments he has due for next week. He’ll do them tomorrow – he needs this day off.

He hasn’t done anything all day, but he still feels more exhausted by the end of it. Not enough to fall asleep, though, so he spends a quarter of the night dozing and the remaining three fourths staring at his ceiling before it’s justifiable late enough to get up without Jonas giving him _looks_.

He makes a sandwich for lunch, a proper one with real bread and filling. It looks good, too, but when Isak has the final product in his hands, he suddenly can’t think of anything he wants _less_ than to eat right now.

So he ends up putting it in the fridge and offering it to Magnus when he whirls through the apartment post-trip, a little delirious and so tired he’s over-geared. He’s talking a mile a minute, but Isak’s brain is so overworked he barely catches any of it. Just nods the hopefully right places and wrinkles his nose when Magnus keeps talking with his mouth full of sandwich.

Isak can’t sit still when Magnus goes for a nap so he won’t crash during the show. He’s too nervous, too a lot of things.

Maybe it was a bad idea to let Magnus watch the show – or, no, not like that, but watch it while Isak was still home. He should probably leave, spend the night at Eskild’s or something, but that also makes him feel like shit.

He’d really thought he was ready to handle seeing the show. It’s barely even about Even – he’ll only be involved in a couple segments, and then Isak can focus on all the other people there.

When he’d first convinced himself he could do it, though, the night had still been far enough away that the thought of cheesy bits and celebrity gossip hadn’t seemed like such a big deal, but now the clock slowly counting down, and Isak’s left with an hour before Magnus will order pizza fir for an army and turn on the show.

An hour feels like an eternity and gone in a blink at the same time and it makes Isak unable to sit still, to stay in a room for too long, to make conversation with anyone, to actually do some homework to avoid getting kicked out of university.

Jonas notices it, because _of course_ he does. He keeps looking at Isak like he’s ready to bolt for the front door to keep Isak from escaping.

Maybe Isak looks _a little too much_ like he’s stuck in a lion cage. He should cool it with the pacing, but once he sits down, his leg keeps bouncing and his hands have to fiddle with something. He keeps tapping at whatever surface is closest to him, and Isak can _tell_ it’s driving Mahdi up the wall, but between Isak’s anxious behavior and Jonas _looks_ , Mahdi doesn’t say a word about it like an actual champ.

Isak should probably tell them that the _looks_ the _both_ of them now keep sending him is really only making him spiral any further, but he can’t start the conversation he doesn’t want to have, so Isak keeps his mouth shut and fiddles some more.

About half an hour before Magnus has set his alarm clock, Isak locks himself in the bathroom.

He considers taking a shower, but that’s too much effort. Instead he sticks his head under the tap, turns it all the way up and yelps when the freezing water hits him full force.

Alright, Isak concedes, gasping a bit and hurrying over to the towels. That was stupid.

His hair has turned a dark brown, a few bottom strands sticking oddly to his neck. Isak rubs the towel over them until they turn lighter but frizzy and now stick _out_ oddly instead.

It’s easier to look at his hair in the mirror than it is to look himself in the eyes. He’s not sure of what he’ll see, or if he’ll want to see it. Maybe all of Jonas’ looks will make sense if Isak saw what he looks like right now, but it feels like he’s pushing himself enough already to be in the same apartment as where Magnus is going to be blasting the award show.

The cold water helped, at least, sending a shock through his system and helping to calm his heart a bit.

 _He can do this_ , Isak stares at the corner of his mouth in his reflection. He’s frowning, but it doesn’t feel like it.

He can’t keep hiding forever, he reminds himself. There’s no reason to anymore, technically, but Isak throws that thought out of his head right away unless he wants to start seriously panicking again.

It doesn’t matter if he tries to make it a good night with his boys and find out if Even’s won anything, or if he spends the night in his room and then the entire night looking up the list of wins on the internet instead, and then hates himself for it the next _week_ straight.

Isak steps out of the bathroom a lot more sure of himself and his ability to handle sitting in the living room with his best friends and stare at a screen showing his very successful, former husband and not let it be awkward or talk about it all in fact.

Isak can do this.

 _Jonas_ , however, does _not_ think he can do this. Or, at least if he _did_ , he wouldn’t be making such a big deal out of something that Isak, despite Jonas’ attempts to convince Mahdi and Magnus, cares about.

“No!” Magnus yells from the kitchen. “I reserved this night _months_ ago! It is _my_ time to decide what we watch on TV!”

“But there’s a game!” Jonas shouts back even as he throws the remote onto the couch on Magnus’ designated spot. “ _Both_ Isak and I want to see it, so that should mean majority wins.”

“That’s fifty percent and you _know it_!” Magnus saunters into the room, arms full of chips packets that he just drops onto the coffee table, not particularly caring that half of them fall onto the floor.

He also doesn’t pick them up, so Mahdi is the one who tuts and crouches down.

“And it doesn’t matter, because _you_ were the one who wanted the system and we’re _honoring it_!”

Jonas’ head lulls around as he slumps down on the bean bag, looking much more like an annoyed teenager than the annoyed adult he actually is.

“Come on!” Magnus whines as he changes the channel. “It was live all night and I’ve spent all day avoiding every single spoiler. I can’t spend another day without my phone or the internet; I _have_ to see if ‘ _Circles_ ’ won anything!”

“You should probably care about some of the other films, as well,” Mahdi rolls his eyes, “what, with you majoring in _media_.”

Magnus scoffs and throws himself backwards onto the couch, loading up the show. “ _What, with you majoring in ‘media’_ ,” he mocks, doesn’t duck fast enough when Mahdi catapults a pillow in his face.

A lot more chips end up being thrown around. At this rate they’ll end up with an ant infestation, or _mice_ at worst.

At least the noise makes it easier to blend into the background. Isak could probably slip away right now, if he hadn’t already promised himself he could do this. Instead he sinks down onto the armchair right by the door, just in case. It’s easy to convince yourself you can do something _before_ you have to do it. Isak’s just preparing _plan B_ if it gets to be too much. He’s being _smart_ , for once in his goddamn life.

Jonas sits down on the other couch, facing Isak, and Mahdi takes a seat on a beanbag. Isak ignores how he scoots it back far enough to be as close to the opposite side of the door as Isak is. It’s fine. Isak focuses on his cell immunity homework. He has to read the same sentence fifteen times before he gives up and goes to the next without retaining any of the information, but it’s _fine_.

The first part goes alright; Magnus insists on watching all the way from the beginning, not just from the start of the show, so they watch all the actors, actresses, directors, producers, significant others, just about literally everyone walking in. It’s barely anything more than short interviews, asking about if they want to win anything – which is a _stupid_ question to ask, Isak thinks – and who they’re wearing. They barely hear any of it, anyway, over Mahdi shouting his own answers over whatever the person asked says.

They don’t see Even. Isak tries to convince himself it doesn’t matter – with how many people invited, the pre-show would last longer than the actual show does just to go through everyone invited. He thinks he might catch a glimpse of Sonja, though, but at the sight of blond hair, Isak buries his face in his text, counts to ten in his head and only looks back up when he’s sure the coast is clear from any stray Norwegians.

Nothing happens at the start of the actual show, either. It’s just a lot of bits and gags, trying to alleviate some of the competitive tension definitely present in the room. Isak can’t handle watching it. Not because of the presenters and hosts, they don’t even do anything out of the usual, but because of Jonas who is in Isak’s direct line of sight and who keeps _looking_ at him in this way that makes Isak feel like he should’ve just stayed in his room, so he keeps his eyes on his homework instead. Feels Jonas’ eyes on him, making the hair on his neck stand up, but it’s still better than actually _seeing_ it.

All in all, it probably would’ve been better if Isak hadn’t come out. Jonas is being weird, Mahdi is tensed on the edge of his seat – as tense as you can be in a beanbag – and Magnus is a lot quieter than he was last year. It’s obvious everyone’s aware of it, too, this _waiting_ for the show to be over.

‘ _Circles_ ’ is the first movie of Even’s that Isak hasn’t secretly watched when his resolve weakens too much and it’s between just checking what it’s like or downing a bottle of vodka.

Sure, he’s practically seen the entirety of the movie by proxy of Magnus playing it constantly when it had first been released, but the important part was that Isak hadn’t gotten to the point where he just had to watch. He’d actually managed not to, for the first time, and he’d thought that meant something, that he was getting better, that this year actually had a possibility of becoming his year.

Now he’s not so certain. Maybe it’s just the boys amplifying everything, but Isak can feel the anxiousness threatening to overpower him, feels the same apprehensive tension at having to _wait_ yet already knowing things will go bad.

He doubts anyone will say anything about Even’s recent _personal issues_ , seeing as everyone else in that room probably have secrets that have secrets and no one wants to risk getting called out themselves. And it’s not like Even’s the centre of the entertainment, there’s no reason anyone would single him out in a crowd like that.

Besides, what would it actually do – someone saying something, calling them out? Send more photographers outside his front door? Have people send more messages to him that he’ll ignore? More people talking about him? All nightmare scenarios from hell, but Isak’s already lived through the brunt of it, or, he’s hidden himself away through the brunt of it, is mainly just waiting it out for it not to be such a sensation, but the thought of someone saying something in that room, thousands upon thousands of kilometers away, an indirect jab at him or at Even doesn’t pack as much of a punch as having to wade through an army of photographers hungry for a story.

Doesn’t really compare to Jonas’ gaze, either, which, Isak realizes, it’s mainly what’s putting him so much on edge.

He kind of wants to laugh – the idea that something other than Even considering what they’re watching could make him feel like this is more hysterical and out of place than Isak would’ve imagined. He really needs to sleep.

He can handle this, though, he tells himself, hunkering down in his seat a bit more in the hope that his brain will get the message if his body is as heavy as rocks.

He wants to know if ‘ _Circles_ ’ won anything. He’s not as certain he wants to watch Even walk on stage, dressed to the nines and as gorgeous as can fucking be, _really_ doesn’t want to hear his acceptance speech, but he still _wants_ for Even to get this. Maybe that feeling should surprise Isak more than it does, but it honestly doesn’t. It hadn’t ever stopped, not even when he was the angriest with Even, when things really started going to shit, he still wanted Even to be proud and successful.

Well, Isak thinks, holding the papers a bit further up in the hope the paper will deflect the burning feeling of Jonas’ eyes, at least Even’s got the successful part down, trying terribly hard not to think of the changes made in pre-production concerning characters, setting, framing and soundtrack.

Jonas’ stare still doesn’t lighten up.

It gets worse soon after that.

It’s such a small thing, and if Isak hadn’t been hyperaware of what was being said to compensate for his lack of vision and if it wasn’t about his _life_ and if it hadn’t been such a big story, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

The presenter, some comedian if Isak recalls correctly from the specials he keeps scrolling past, with the tiniest comment about the time being apparently appropriate for getting exposed, that could very obviously be linked to the movie he’s talking about, some political drama that Jonas had refused to watch because it was basically promoting capitalism or something, but the _way_ he says it, and the timing of it considering Even’s category is up next, and from the tense laughter he receives, Isak is not the only one who catches on to the double-edged words.

Isak, a bunch of celebrities, probably a lot of people with a twitter account who’s already talking about it, and _Jonas_.

Jonas, who _snaps_.

Isak’s actively about to get up and spend the rest of the night in his room, when Jonas suddenly kicks at the coffee table.

Jonas, the most chilled, laid-back guy Isak has ever met, who’d looked at him calmly every time he’d had too much to drink and had acted like an idiot, or passed out, or had been entirely dependent on Jonas taking care of his drunk ass even as he hadn’t asked for him to do it, Jonas had just done it because he’s _Jonas_ and Jonas is like that, a really great friend, the best best-friend Isak has ever had, _Jonas_ kicks their table, flies out of his seat, and points at Isak.

“I can’t take this anymore!” Jonas yells. Isak flinches, but resolutely keeps staring at the words on his page. He can’t even make them out anymore, but Jonas doesn’t have to know that.

“Jonas…” Magnus tries, quietly and definitely not enough to get Jonas to calm down.

“No! No, this stops, right now. Not talking about it isn’t helping – look at you!” he points at Isak again. “This – just – ignoring the problem isn’t helping, we’re just sitting around in a fucking stasis waiting for things to go back to normal, which they _won’t_.”

Isak flinches again, his breathing quickening. Fuck. _Fuck_. Not now, not now, not now. Any other night, just not _now_.

Too many thoughts are flying through his head; he can’t make sense of any of them. Isak just knows he doesn’t want it to end like this. Just not like this.

“It won’t go back to normal, and I can’t _help_ because I don’t _understand_. There are just _too many things_ that don’t add up!” Jonas shouts. He grips onto his hair in frustration as he shakes his head.

Mahdi bangs the coffee cup against the table, but even the loud noise can’t draw Isak’s attention away from Jonas’ furious tirade.

“All of this fucking started that night we met Even Bech Næsheim!”

Fuck. _Fuck_.

“You promised,” Isak chokes out. He digs his fingernails into his thigh through his jeans, it barely hurts but it gives him something to focus on that isn’t, isn’t – “You _promised_.”

“I know I fucking did!” Jonas cries out, hands flying everywhere as he finally stands still just to stare at Isak. “I _know_ I promised, but this, _this_ is – I don’t even know what the fuck this is, but – first we meet him and you _run_ _away_ , and then both of your names are all over the papers and you’re having a goddamn panic attack over it, and you’re supposed to be _marri-_ “

“Isak,” Magnus tries to interject, but Isak isn’t listening. He can’t hear this, any of it, he can’t do this.

“I can’t do this,” he tells them as he gets up from the chair, inching toward the doorway even as he has to go past Mahdi to get there.

Mahdi looks like he’s ready to run up and tackle him just to get him to stay, eyes wide and scared and Isak _hates this_ , but he _can’t_ do this.

“You’re going to have to, man!” Jonas takes a step forward towards Isak, but Isak instinctively takes one back without thinking about it.

His back presses harshly against the wall when he bumps into it, the _thump_ of it loud enough that Jonas doesn’t come nearer even as he looks frustrated with it.

“We just want to understand!” Mahdi finally gets up from his own seat, but he doesn’t step closer to Isak at least.

Jonas starts his tirade again. “We’re going in circles and we can’t keep doing this –“

“Isak,” Magnus tries again, eyes glued onto the TV, not even _watching_ the fight going on in his own home.

“I don’t understand any of what this is or what’s happening or _anything_ , but you can’t keep doing this! This – the _lies_ and the running and the, the, _all of it_. We’re your friends, man, why don’t you start acting like we are?”

“ _Isak_!” Magnus yells, startling all of them out of their bubble as they snap their attention over to him.

He’s still sitting on the couch, surrounded by bags of chips and a couple beer bottles and cans, but his attention is rapt on the TV.

“Do you know anything about Even running around naked at the award show?”

Isak’s heart skips a beat. Even… Even running around naked?

Oh god.

Oh my god.

Jesus fucking Christ, he should’ve seen the signs. Even not being able to sit still in the past couple of interviews, going off in tangents about new project ideas. The excess energy – the _too_ much excess energy, the sporadic behavior, never being able to stay on topic for too long unless it’s something Even’s brought up unprompted.

Even’s manic.

Even’s fucking manic.

Isak can feel the tears start to well up in his eyes, and he sniffles once as he presses even closer against the wall, even though it hurts his head to do so.

He can’t do this. He barely knew how to do this when he and Even were still – when they – he most certainly doesn’t know how to do it _now_. Not when everything is this messed up. Even is running around naked somewhere at whatever big, fancy event he was invited to, in front of thousands of cameras and it’ll be _everywhere_ , it probably already is and Isak has no idea how he’s missed it, because the show aired _yesterday_ , or during the night at least.

“ _What_?” Mahdi exclaims at the same time as Jonas questions if this is really the _time_ for that.

Magnus throws the remote onto the coffee table. “What the hell is going on?”

And Isak just, he _can’t_.

His throat is closing in on itself and he doesn’t know how to breathe, and it doesn’t help that his vision is narrowing in on the doorway like tunnel vision, because that’s the only way he can get out and he just has to, he can’t, he needs to get out of here.

“I can’t,” Isak manages to wheeze out. He can’t tell if it’s loud enough, if any of the boys hear it or if Jonas just starts shouting again because Isak starts to stumble to the door.

Mahdi grabs onto his hoodie, but Isak’s body is pumped full of adrenaline. He doesn’t give him a hard shove; just firmly enough that he can pry himself out of his grasp and then run out into the hall towards the front door.

He doesn’t even stop to get his shoes on; he can hear three sets of footsteps closing in on him and he can’t get out if they’re all holding onto him so he has to be quick, has to –

“Isak!”

“Just stop, _please_ , don’t leave!”

He doesn’t stop. He grabs onto the door handle with the tips of his fingers, presses down until he can swing the door open, his brain barely processing he needs to move if he wants to avoid getting smacked in the face with the door, but once he does he can just run –

Even is standing outside the door, hand held up like he’d just been about to knock. Isak barely stops himself from barreling into him, catching himself on the doorframe as he hears the other boys fall to a sudden stop as well.

Even barely reacts to any of it. There are bags underneath his eyes and lines on his face that make him look much older than he really is and he just looks, so, _tired_ , like he’s absolutely exhausted to the bone and just doesn’t know how to do any of this anymore.

“Oh my god –“ Isak barely registers Magnus, doesn’t hear it as more than a background track as he stands there right in front of Even who lets his hand fall heavily as they stare at each other.

Even wets his bottom lip, smacks his lips together and then licks them one more time before he gets the courage to actually say something.

“Can I – “ his voice cracks and Isak’s breath hitches. “Can I just stay here, with you?”

The tears start to fall down and Isak doesn’t even bother trying to hide it, just lets them fall silently.

“You can.”

**_ Past _ **

It’s not like Isak hadn’t paid _attention_ , he’d just – gotten busy. Gotten stuck in his own head. Not really processed what was happening around him. They’d celebrated each promotion Even had gotten – celebrated in many ways and shapes, because Isak is nothing if not _proud_ of his _husband_ – and Isak hears stories about the people Even meets, hears namedrops even if he doesn’t recognize the names, he recognizes Even’s awe when he talks about how they’d spoken to _him_. He knows that Even’s met people through uni, knows he’s made friends with peers and teachers and their connections alike, knows that he’s met even more people through his job now that he’s done a year of film school.

But, apparently, there’s ‘knowing’ and then there’s ‘ _knowing_ ’.

‘ _Knowing_ ’ would be not being as taken aback as Isak is right now when he stares at the plane ticket to _America_.

“Say something,” Even begs. He’s nervously tapping his foot, squirming in the seat of the chair they’d found at a flea market, keeps biting his lip. He’s staring anxiously at Isak who has literally stopped being able to function.

“Holy shit.”

Even looks like he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. He’s still tapping his foot – Isak feels simultaneously lighter and heavier with each _tap_ , sinking down into the mattress and floating up to the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” he repeats, because it’s fitting. _Holy shit_.

He’s still staring at the plane ticket, lying oh so innocently on the table.

“I’m not doing it.”

 _That_ makes his head snap towards Even. “ _What_?”

Even keeps chewing on his bottom lip. “I – it –“ he makes a frustrated little noise. “It’s too soon.”

Isak _blinks_. “What is?”

Even throws his arms out. “Just – like. We _just_ got married,” he points out, as if Isak had forgotten.

“And we’ll still be married if you go _direct_ an _actual movie_.”

“Feature film,” Even corrects absentmindedly, because that’s the part that _matters_. “And that’s the other bit – this, _this_ doesn’t _happen_ ,” he taps aggressively on the ticket out of tandem with his foot. “My film-writing teacher _literally_ told us we had to marry rich if we ever were to make the films we wanted to make.”

Isak has heard that story loads of times, had laughed about it, too, with Even, about how he’d managed to fuck that up before he even had a chance, and Even had laughed back and said he’d made an investment, because in a few years once Isak has finished university, _he_ was going to be the one with the fancy science-degree that would make them millions and millions of kroner.

“But you were also told it’s about knowing the right people, and you, _clearly_ ,” Isak nods towards the paper, a thought in the back of his head nervously popping out if the ticket is still usable if Even ends up crumbling it in his hand, “know the right people.”

Even flushes, even if it’s only Isak, and Isak knows _everything_ about Even.

Even had worked on a project that had an actual _premier_ , and Isak had been _so proud_ of him, had wanted to stand next to him and _show_ how proud he was, if only the thought of all those cameras, of them capturing how close he was standing to Even, of second-guessing himself the entire evening if he came across straight enough, of having to explain to Eskild who would definitely be watching, considering the cast Even had worked with, why he suddenly knew the _director_ – all those thoughts that are off-putting enough so Even doesn’t suggest for him to come along and Isak doesn’t offer.

Instead he’d followed along with the livestream from their bed back home – Even had shown him both the rough cut, the polished cut, and the final cut weeks ago, and Isak already knows each version from start to finish like the back of his hand, so he just waits seven hours before Even’s done networking to come home.

At first, that had been it. ‘ _Networking_ ’ Even had called it, and Isak knew it was about making connections, but one second it’s ‘ _networking_ ’, the next it’s a ‘ _business opportunity_ ’ and now it’s a _studio asking_ if he wants to direct a _feature film_. They’re quiet for so long. Isak’s heart is pounding. He wants to know what Even’s thinking, but he won’t get anything out of him before Even’s ready to tell him, so he just sits on the bed quietly, looks at Even and ignores the little voice in his head repeating in a mix of awe and fear _America, America, America_.

“It’ll be for so long,” Even finally says, so quiet Isak wouldn’t have caught it if their neighbors had been arguing. He’s resolutely not looking at Isak, is staring at their wall with all the drawings of the two of them, of future plans and sketches of movies instead.

“What, are you saying you’re going to miss me?” It’s a joke, but it’s not a joking time, and Isak _knows_ that, but he can’t hear anything over fucking _America_.

Even gives him a look that makes Isak want to apologize, but he doesn’t get to before Even starts talking again.

“Yes. Every single day, in fact, and I don’t think I want to not see you until _April_.” May, June, maybe, if he has to stay for all the press, if they won’t give him a break in-between. Isak’s chest tightens.

“It’s not like I can’t fly out and see you,” Isak offers, the thought makes his chest tighten even further, but it’s a possibility. They have some money saved up, and Even will get paid for his work. “People do that, don’t they? Not just spouses,” he adds at Even’s telling look that this isn’t helping, “friends can do it too. We can just say –“ then trails off, because what the hell would they say.

Technically, they’ve already had loads of opportunities to “ _just say_ ” something to any of their actual close friends, and they _haven’t_. It won’t be any different with these people. Isak bites his lip, because he _knows that_.

“We could make it work,” Isak repeats, because they _could_.

Even hesitates. “It’s not just that,” he finally admits.

Isak really can’t tell what else there could be. _America_.

“The studio,” Even speaks slowly, his mouth barely moves, “doesn’t want to take any chances, seeing as I’m not exactly ‘ _well-established_.’” He says it like he’s quoting someone, and Isak feels a hot stab of anger at the thought of anyone talking to Even like that. “So I have to sign on with their management team. Which means I have to sign on with their PR team. Which means…” he trails off, but Isak knows what Even isn’t saying. The rest of him is saying it loud and clear.

They would have to know about Isak. About Isak and Even. About what Isak is to Even. They would have to know that Even is married – to a _guy_.

“Oh,” is all Isak can get out.

It’s a very weird thought. Going from no one knowing, to suddenly vaguely shaped people in suits knowing such a personal detail about him and Even.

But on the other hand, there are already three people in the world as they’re speaking who knows they’re married. Granted, it’s a priest and two office ladies, but they count. If Isak and Even can still manage to function with them knowing, then _surely_ they could handle people, who will be vital for Even’s dream career, knowing about them.

Except it’s not the same, and both Isak and Even know that. There’s a difference between three people witnessing such a monumental moment in their life together, and there’s telling a bunch of businessmen ready to pick Even apart until only the sellable sides are showing.

Isak doubts he’s a sellable side.

“I’m not going,” Even repeats. He’s slumped down a bit in his chair, he looks tired, hair falling into his eyes.

Isak’s not going to tell Even that.

“I won’t do it,” Even says again, but he’s not looking at Isak, isn’t even staring blankly at nothing. He’s looking at the plane ticket. And Isak _knows_.

Like Even said, this isn’t something that just _happens_. No one will hand you your dreams on a silver platter, you’ll have to work and beg and live off scraps until one day you finally get where you’ve fought to be. Isak would argue that no one else is as passionate as Even, has fought as hard as he knows Even does. Even deserves this opportunity, deserves the entire fucking world, but there’s only one of those two that’s an actual option right now that Isak can give him.

Isak won’t ever be the reason why Even can’t do something. Never, ever, ever. He’d rather jump out of their window before he’d let that happen.

Does Isak want for Even to travel all the way to America for who knows how long? No. Does he want a whole bunch of people in suits knowing about him and Even being married, despite the both of them being boys and Isak barely a month past eighteen? Also no.

Does he want for Even to take the shot at doing what he’s wanted for longer than Isak has known him, to actually live out all those dreams and plans?

It’s not even a question. It’s an automatic _yes_ , and Isak will make sure it won’t be stuck as a _what if_ , that it will turn into reality.

An actual movie. A script Even’s written that he gets the opportunity to make into an actual movie, that he’ll get to direct and bring the image to life.

Isak wants to see Even direct his own movie, wants to see that movie on the big screen. Wants everything for Even.

It doesn’t matter it means months upon months of not being near Even, of being stuck in Norway, finishing third year whilst Even is all the way in America. Isak will fly him there _personally_ if that’s what it takes.

So he gets up off the bed. Even’s still staring so intensely at the plane ticket he doesn’t even notice Isak moving. If Isak hadn’t already convinced himself, that would’ve sealed the deal.

Isak gets off the bed and takes the two steps he’s apart from Even. Even looks up, startled, but he’s pliant when Isak maneuvers him into a position where he can straddle him easier, his toes just about touching the floor near the chair’s back legs.

“Hello,” he whispers, cupping Even’s face in his hands.

Even smiles, but he looks tired. “Hei, baby.”

“You’re going to America,” Isak tells him, using the hold on Even’s head to make him nod when he tries to shake his head, “because that movie is going to be beautiful, and it’s a story that deserves to be told the way you want to tell it.”

Isak can tell that Even has fixated on a part of Isak’s cheek to avoid looking him in the eyes. It’s okay, though, because Isak knows he does it to hold off tears.

Even’s hands are tight on his hips. It hurts a bit, bordering the line between good and bad, but it grounds Isak, makes it feel like his heart isn’t stuck in his throat, and like he isn’t losing the best part of himself.

“And I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it,” Isak continues unapologetically. He smoothes his thumb over Even’s cheek, wiping away a tear that spills over.

OOOOO

He doesn’t go with him to the airport.

Even is meeting his director-friend there, having business with the same studio Even’s signing on with and decided to head out a week earlier to go with Even.

Isak does walk him down the four flights of stairs to the taxi waiting on the street, but he stays inside, doesn’t walk with Even to the car. He clings to Even one last time until he can’t breathe, willing himself not to cry, don’t _fucking cry_ , _just wait, wait for him to leave, just wait_.

He just stands there, peeking around the corner through the glass panes in the entrance door. He sees Even greet the driver, sees him putting away his luggage in the boot.

Isak traces over the shape of Even, over the expanse of his back, his hair messy and unkempt from Isak running his fingers through it all night.

Even doesn’t turn around for one last look, just gets in the cab and drives off.

Isak is oddly thankful for that, as much as he’d wanted to drink in Even in his entirety one last time for who knows how many months. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done had Even turned around.

It’s for a definite amount of time, Isak tries to console himself. He’ll see Even again, this isn’t supposed to last for forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/623262555523153920/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, _this_ chapter. Good luck. It's the second longest chapter with +23k. Wow. The length isn't why you need luck, btw, consider yourself warned. 
> 
> I'd say this chapter is one of the most awaited chapters - not _the_ most, because I think that's the happy ending y'all have started to doubt the existence of; it exists, I promise - but this chapter provides scenarios and answers you have wanted since pretty much the beginning in both the present and past. 
> 
> With that said, cue Isak having some really great friends, and let's get some papers, shall we?

**_ Present _ **

Isak spends the entire morning on the phone.

He makes the mistake of picking up the phone when Sonja had called – he doesn’t even know how she would’ve gotten his number, but it had been her, Isak recognized her voice. Ever since then, she’s been calling, or numbers Isak has checked belong to the rest of Even’s team have called.

Maybe it’s shitty of him not to pick up, but once he’d assured Sonja that Even wasn’t injured – no comment if he was with him or well or anything – she’d started talking business, which, Isak _can’t_.

He tries to take care of his own business afterwards. He can skip lectures no problem, Sana will lend him her notes, he knows, but there’s lab work and group work that he can’t just stay away from. Study-buddy sessions with Sana can be rescheduled, but some of the other things are time sensitive, and working it out leaves him more exhausted than he’s felt since Even showed up at his front door, dreary and exhausted himself, and about to crash so hard he’s barely moved 16 hours later.

Isak had managed to doze off for a few hours in that time span, propped up in his desk chair because getting into bed with Even when everything was so messed up hadn’t seemed like a good idea. Hadn’t seemed like a fair thing to do – not to Even, but also not to Isak – lying next to him like that, as if their lives aren’t a fucking mess, like they’re still kids who don’t know any better, who life hasn’t fucked over.

He’s probably reading too much into it, knows he is. The first thing Even had done once Isak had said he could stay was, after all, to stumble against Isak and curl himself around him, a solid weight and like he’d never left.

Isak can’t remember the last time he’d hugged Even. That’s a… a _something_. A thought that actually scares him a bit, makes him feel like he’s taken a punch to the stomach.

It had been everything it had always been, though, even after all those years. Even was bigger, had somehow managed to grow even taller than he’d been back… back then, but so has Isak, so it evens out. Isak had still been able to comfortably fit his head underneath Even’s chin, had had to stand on his tippy toes to wrap his arms all the way around Even’s shoulders, to hold him so tightly they’d end up fusing together if they didn’t let go.

He’d gotten Even into his bed, Even falling asleep almost instantly, far more drained than he’d looked, which was a feat in itself. Isak had spent the next hours ignoring the boys’ increasingly worried looks and attempts of concerned comfort and had just stared at Even in his bed instead.

Whenever Isak has seen him on screen – the only access to Even he’s had for _two years_ , barring the two accidental meet-ups – Even had been the same way as Isak had remembered him to be; larger than life, so charming and so magnetic and positively mesmerizing with his words and visions.

Even looks small now, covered up to his nose with Isak’s bed sheets, curled up and with dark purple bags underneath his eyes.

He’d left the room at the first buzz of his phone, then it hadn’t stopped buzzing since and Isak had stayed in the kitchen, finally slumping down on one of the chairs and given up looking at his phone.

“Hey,” Jonas says quietly, knocking against the doorframe to warn Isak of his presence. Isak still startles. “How are you?”

Isak snorts, goes back to staring at his phone placed on the kitchen table, wrong side up just so he wouldn’t have to see the numbers of people he _can’t_ talk to right now.

Jonas doesn’t try to dig an answer out of him. Probably winces at his choice of words if Isak knows him well enough.

Isak doesn’t know how he is. He wants to cry, but not really. He mainly just feels numb.

“How long have you been up for?” Jonas moves towards the coffee machine, careful to keep his eyes on Isak.

Isak doesn’t know. He won’t be surprised if more time has managed to pass than he thinks has. He doesn’t want to check the time on his phone because he doesn’t want to check his phone, and he can’t work it out with the lack of exhaustion from the wired tension that refuses to leave him.

So he shrugs, keeps his gaze on the table. They should be more careful to clean it – there are several stains from spilled beer and sodas and condensation from bottles.

The stains are making him antsier than he already is, so Isak goes back to staring at the backside of his phone.

He doesn’t know how long he can get away with not going to school. He definitely needs to call some of his professors to ask for an extension, if he at this rate even gets close to getting started on his schoolwork.

It’s funny, Isak notes without any humor whatsoever. For so long, Even had been the most important thing to him, had been what he was most proud of, and then when Even had left and Isak had gotten his head out of his ass with Jonas’ help, he’d fixated on his studies, on getting his degree. Almost as a pseudo-replacement – he couldn’t get Even, but he could definitely get a degree.

Now Even is back and Isak is practically letting his degree fly out the window. Well, that’s probably an exaggeration, but if he continues at this rate, or if this temporary break has to turn into a longer term dropout, then he’s lucky if he’ll even get to re-sit his exams next summer.

“How is…” Jonas stirs a spoon in his cup of coffee despite not having poured the water in yet. “How is Even?”

The sound of Even’s name in Jonas’ mouth is… weird.

It’s not like Jonas hasn’t said Even’s name before, but it’s usually been _Even Bech Næsheim_ and he’d been referring to him as this distant figure, famous for his movies and Magnus’ obsession, not as an actual person, definitely not as a physical being currently in his home, sleeping in his roommate’s bed.

Isak supposes that’s another thing he’ll have to get used to. He’ll have to get used to people talking about Even around him, and he’ll have to get used to people knowing he knows Even, and he’ll have to get used to people _knowing_.

“Asleep.”

Even hadn’t stirred in the couple hours Isak had managed to pass out. He should probably get him to drink something soon; maybe get some food in him if he can take it.

Jonas nods. “That’s good. He looked tired.”

“Yeah.”

Tired after the mania. Tired after running around naked at an internationally famous, televised award show. Tired in general.

Isak sure as hell is tired.

Jonas keeps stirring the spoon. The water finishes boiling, but he doesn’t add it. Isak doesn’t move either. Just sits there and stares like an actual idiot.

“Listen, man,” Jonas draws it out, enough that Isak tenses in his seat. “I’m sorry about last night, about just shouting like that. It wasn’t cool, and it wasn’t alright for me to do that to you.”

Last night feels like years have passed since, everything that happened before Even showing up at the door seems like eons ago, Isak can barely remember all the things Jonas had said through the haze and deliria of finding out Even was having an episode, and then Even being there, and then _Even_ _being there_ , and then having to help Even.

He doesn’t know how to tell Jonas that, though, so he just shrugs. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Jonas scoffs, but he mostly just sounds tired, not angry. “It does, it really does. I just wanted you to know I shouldn’t have done it, and that I would change it if I could.”

 _I would change it if I could_. How many times hasn’t Isak thought that exact sentence when he’d thought back on past choices and a life that seemed like it happened to someone else, another Isak in a different universe that this Isak got a glimpse into the life of.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says instead. Considers telling Jonas he can make up for it by buying him a beer next night out, but he really isn’t in the mood for a drink and he can’t imagine going out for the next very, very, _very_ long while.

“Do you need to call the university?”

Another shrug. Isak thinks of his professors, of Sana, of the administration, the list of people growing longer and longer until he’s dizzy and a bit nauseous. “Probably.”

Jonas finally adds the water then goes back to stirring. The scent of coffee fills the room, Isak can’t tell if it’s helping to alleviate his growing headache, or if it’s just making it worse.

“You can tell us, you know, if you need help. Or just – anything.”

Isak stares harder at his phone. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_. If he starts crying now, he doesn’t know when or if he’ll stop.

“Yeah!” Magnus says, too loudly, startling Isak, from the doorway as he strides across the kitchen, getting a glass of water. “You need to personally hand in that essay today, don’t you? We can hang around until you get back. He’ll probably be asleep for a while longer, but we could make some breakfast for him.”

Isak blinks at Magnus. Then blinks again.

Jonas frowns as well. “He’s already been asleep for, like, more than 12 hours – how much –“

“Dude,” Magnus interrupts, scrunching up his nose at Jonas. “If _you_ had spent the last, probably, _week_ on a high like that, _your_ body would be begging for some sleep, too.”

Isak _blinks_. How did he –

Jonas frowns even harder, his eyebrows fully curled in now. “High – what, are you telling me that was a _drug-induced_ stunt?” Jonas switches between looking incredulously at Magnus and then over to Isak, like Isak is in a position to confirm whether or not Hollywood’s worst reputation is true. Isak just _blinks_.

“The fuck, how did you know?”

Now _Magnus_ is the one who blinks owlishly at Isak. “It’s… obvious?”

Isak nods towards Jonas. “It clearly isn’t.”

Magnus just keeps looking confused. “My mom is bipolar. Did you not know that?”

Isak did _not_ know that, thank you very much, _Magnus_. He’s met the woman, sure, but not during an episode, and Magnus has never said a goddamn word about it, that’s for certain.

“Bipolar?” Jonas asks, not specifying to whom, but he’s ignored nonetheless.

“No,” Isak bites, huddling himself further down in his chair, “I didn’t.”

Magnus just blinks again. “Huh. I really thought I told you guys.”

Isak doesn’t bother shaking his head. It’s not like it matters now, anyway.

“Oh, then I’ve _got_ to tell you about this one time she got pissed with the NSB, and so she found out who the regional director was and sent in a resignation letter in his name. It was fucking hilarious. All it said was, like: ‘ _I give up, I can’t work here anymore. Goodbye_.’”

The dissonance between Magnus laughing and Isak just so out of it with how little control he has in his life is too great for Isak to wrap his head around.

Jonas is nodding along with Magnus’ story, but his eyes are wide and Isak can tell it’s all a little too much for him as well.

“Did Even ever do anything wild?” Magnus asks before he can help himself.

Isak flinches, doesn’t think of long, confused nights with Even switching between twenty scripts or hyper-focusing on one, where he’d have Isak lie in a pose for several hours because of the inspiration it gave Even, doesn’t think of Even painting an entire mural, doesn’t think of a lot of things.

He _does_ think about Even _running_ around _naked_ at an award show, and what that could possibly do to his career. Like, end it, for one.

“No, nothing like that,” he says instead. During the admittedly short period of time where Even’s medication hadn’t been worked out, leaving him with only smaller episodes, he’d only ever really fixated on his work or on Isak. He hadn’t done something like Magnus’ mom with NSB, hadn’t really done anything that could be considered ‘ _funny_ ’ in someone else’s eyes.

Magnus looks at him for a beat too long, Isak doesn’t like the way it feels like it goes through him, then opens his mouth to say something when Mahdi interrupts.

“Are the curtains still up?” Mahdi asks, stumbling over his joggers and looking sleep-rumbled. “The circus is back in town.”

“Shit, seriously?” Jonas moves towards the window to pull Mahdi’s sheet more securely over the corner. “What the fuck, man.”

There’s a small scratch near the bottom of his phone where he’d scratched it with the phone charger. _Don’t fucking cry_.

“Are the curtains drawn in your room?” Mahdi asks. Isak doesn’t even realize he’s talking to him before he asks, “Isak? Are the curtains drawn in your room?”

They are, Isak remembers they are, because he’d barely been able to see Even when he’d left to answer the phone, but also because he knows he hasn’t opened them since the certificate was exposed in the article.

He doesn’t know how to answer, though. _Don’t cry_.

“Hey.”

He feels a hand squeezing his shoulder. Magnus, Isak sees, when he looks up and sees Magnus’ blue eyes and a smile plastered on his face even as it looks like it takes a lot of effort.

Magnus squeezes his shoulder again. “Let’s make some breakfast, yeah?”

Isak doubts Even will actually eat it, but if he stares at his phone for one more second he’ll go insane, so he gets up and lets Magnus guide him through the kitchen, mindlessly going through the motions of making a cup of tea, some toast, and a glass of water.

Isak remembers the way Even used to take his tea – just like his coffee, with lots of sugar, enough to cause a heart attack as Isak would constantly remind him whilst Even laughed and made him taste some as well – which is something that leaves him frozen mid-motion before Magnus gets him going again. It’s such a small, insignificant detail to remember, and Isak can’t tell if he only remembers because seeing Even is triggering a lot of repressed memories or if he would’ve been able to recall that piece of information anyway.

Even is still asleep when he walks into his bedroom, still looking as small and exhausted from what Isak can see, which isn’t a lot in the darkness.

He still hasn’t moved since when Isak left, but he does when Isak takes a deep breath to brace himself and carefully makes sure to step on the floorboard that creaks piercingly.

“Morning,” Isak says cheerfully. He hopes it doesn’t come across as fake as it feels, as it sounds to his own ears.

Then again, he doubts Even particularly cares right now. He isn’t up to answering, either way, and the quiet feels stifling.

“I made toast,” Isak continues instead. He wants to walk over to his window and draw the curtains, let some light and air into the room, but he doesn’t know what it’s like out there right now, so he doesn’t. “Magnus made you a cup of tea. There’s also cereal if you’d rather. I would’ve made you eggs, but –“

He lets it hang in the air how Even was always the one who cooked the eggs because his turn out perfect and Isak’s turn out either overcooked or runny, no in-between. He doesn’t feel ready to bring up something so mundane about their past, not yet, anyway. It’s too early, still feels too much like ripping off a band-aid too quickly, so you know you rip off the scar tissue as well.

“I want to sleep,” Even mumbles, mostly muffled by the pillow and duvet.

Isak stills, has to take in a controlled breath in order to not let his emotions get the best of him.

It was never like it was only the good moments, the fond memories he had of Even that hurt to think about, it was _all_ of them. Seeing Even like this again, it’s – It’s a little too much a lot too soon, if Isak is honest with himself.

“Alright.” He’s proud of himself the way he sounds – not calm, necessarily, but not angry or put off with Even’s lack of want to participate in conversation. “Have a sip of water, then, before you do that.”

It would be best if he could get him to eat, just a few bites of the toast or something. There’s still time, though, before he has to leave, and if Even doesn’t wake up before then Mahdi doesn’t have class until this afternoon and no other obligations before that.

If he even ends up going, that is. It’ll probably be just as bad as when the article first got published – Isak doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that, all those journalists yelling at him and photographers snapping pictures at his tired face.

Even’s hair flops down over his forehead, a few strands still clinging on to the meticulous style Even is notorious for at this point. He looks soft and tired and so fucking exhausted in general. Isak doubts he looks better himself.

He _really_ wants another hug from Even right now.

“Get some more sleep,” he whispers, daring to brush his fingers through Even’s hair, just once. It’s a little tacky from stale product, but it’s still soft and it’s still _Even_.

Even doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t do anything about it either. Just burrows down under the duvet again and closes his eyes.

Isak can’t tell if he’s already fallen asleep or not, so he gets off the bed carefully and tries to gather his laptop, his charger, and a few books to finish the essay he needs to hand in today.

Considering the circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. Would’ve spent the day watching Netflix and attempting to fall asleep before trying to get some more food in Even, but this assignment is worth twenty percent of his final grade, and his professor is infamous for not handing out extensions, and getting the administration involved would take too long and be too difficult a process when Isak isn’t the one who’s ill. Doing the damn assignment is easier than not handing it in and trying to rectify it afterwards.

He still is actively trying not to flunk out of university, Isak reminds himself when he sits down on the couch, as doing homework is actually one of the last things he wants to be doing right now. The words dance around on the page for a few minutes, which is a sign Isak probably needs sleeps more badly than he’d thought he did, but he can feel he won’t be able to fall asleep were he to try now.

So he opens his document instead – only about 60% of the required amount of words done – and hopes determination will overpower sheer exhaustion.

 _Sleep is the cousin of death_ , he remembers Even saying sometimes when his mind wouldn’t let him sleep.

Isak definitely feels more dead than alive right now, that’s for damn certain.

OOOOO

“Hey,” Isak whispers, shaking Even gently by his shoulder until he opens his eyes.

He looks even more exhausted than he had when Isak woke him up for breakfast.

“I need to hand in an essay, and then I’ve got a tutorial.” Even just blinks. Isak tries not to feel too discouraged by it. “Mahdi and Magnus are both staying, if you remember them. They’ll make you some food when you wake up if I’m not back by then.”

Another blink. Isak feels it settling deeply in his bones, hates it but unable to help it.

“I’ll come hom- I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” he tries to hide his wince at the slip-up by squeezing Even’s shoulder. He sort of hopes for a nod, or a verbal confirmation, or another _blink_ , but Even just closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

Isak tries to take a deep breath in, but his lungs hurt too much, it’s still too hard to breathe.

Isak _really_ needs for it to stop being so difficult to _breathe_ soon.

“Thanks again,” he tells Magnus who has taken up Isak’s vacated spot on the couch.

Magnus waves him off like it’s nothing. Isak doesn’t know how to tell him any differently, so he meets up with Jonas by the front door, throws on his shoes and his jacket and goes to face the vultures.

OOOOO

Sana texts him when he’s on the tram, about three minutes away from UiO.

_One time offer, Isabel, do you need me to swing by to pick up your essay?_

Isak nearly facepalms, doesn’t because he has enough decorum not to and because enough people stared at him when he got on the tram with photographers flashing pictures of him. He can see a few younger people trying to discreetly take a few pictures of him as well.

If he had known he wouldn’t need to subject himself to all of _this_ , just by asking Sana to come by he would’ve.

 _‘s cool, Sanasol_ he writes back, feeling like kicking himself. Jonas gives him a worried look, but thankfully keeps quiet, like he has ever since the press stopped hounding them. _Omw already_.

How Jonas can read him so well to know Isak will snap if someone talks to him, Isak doesn’t know – especially considering how rotten he’s been at it for so long by now, absolutely nothing coming naturally, but Jonas has always been like that. His cool, chill nature the complete antithesis to Isak’s high-strung grumpy self.

The quiet a few weeks ago would’ve scared Isak to death. He would’ve thought Jonas had managed to work it out, that he _knew_ , and now everything was ending, but now Jonas _does_ know, all of the boys know – or they know _something_ , they don’t know _enough_ , and they’ve been left with as much guesswork as the rest of the world, really – but they haven’t stopped being his _friends_ and they haven’t kicked him out.

And now Jonas is being an absolute god-tier best friend, trying to block Isak from everyone’s sight, which is a comical feat considering Isak is taller, and he’s keeping quiet because Isak doesn’t have room for anyone else in his already overflowing head.

Isak fucking _loves_ his friends, and he’s been too scared of losing them to tell them that. He should fix that – put it on the list of the million other things he also needs to fix in his life.

The only thing Jonas had said was when they’d gotten on the tram and he’d asked Isak if he was okay. Isak hadn’t known how to tell him that his ears were still ringing, that he felt like he was going to be sick, that he simultaneously felt a thousand tons heavy yet floating outside of his body. That all he really hears over the ringing is hungry journalists shouting at him, asking if Even is still staying with him, if he’s fucking psychotic, if he needs to stay in the closed ward. How long he’s been insane for, or if it’s a new development, if it’s a drug addiction, if it’s something else entirely.

 _Saved you a seat_ is all Sana texts back.

Jonas follows him to his classroom, despite Political Science being all the way across campus from the science department. Isak wants to hug him, really fucking _wants_ a hug himself, but he isn’t willing to chance loitering around the halls or getting anyone’s attention. He has enough attention on him already to last a lifetime, so he goes inside the classroom instead, spotting Sana all the way in the back in the corner of the room.

“Everyone take a seat,” the professor orders. He sounds tired as well. “When I call out your name, come hand in your assignment. If you don’t hand anything in, I can’t check you off on my list, and it’s an automatic F – remember, it affects your final ECTS points. It is _not_ possible to ask for an extension. Please have your essays ready, we all have things we need to do today. Everyone ready? Anna Norland.”

Sana sits perfectly poised next to him. Isak feels like an even bigger mess than he had before; he keeps fiddling, shifting in his seat, and taking his phone out of his pocket, back into his pocket, out of his pocket, back into his pocket –

“Alright, _stop_ ,” Sana snaps, grabbing his phone and placing it on the table. Isak flips it around so its front side is up, but otherwise he lets go of it at Sana’s pointed glare.

Isak manages two taps on the table before he reaches out for his phone. Maybe he didn’t hear it, maybe Magnus or Mahdi texted to let him know something about Even, maybe _Even_ texted him, he just needs to check –

Sana snatches his wrist out of the air, grabbing a hold of him. Isak stares up at her, wide-eyed.

“I _will_ break it,” she tells him in a tone that very clearly adds on the left out _just try me_.

Isak isn’t sure whether she’s talking about his wrist or his phone. He’s not all that curious to find out.

He also isn’t in a mood to let someone else step all over him, either, so before he can stop himself he snaps, “It could’ve been an _emergency_.”

Sana raises one perfect eyebrow and doesn’t even deign him worthy of a reply. “Essay ready. You’re up next,” she says instead.

“ _Isak Valtersen_.”

“Shit,” he curses, scrambling to get the folded up papers hastily printed out of his bag. He trips over said bag when he tries to get to the front of the classroom.

“Today, Mr. Valtersen.”

“Sorry, I – sorry,” he hands over the papers, his spine crumbling a bit at the look fixed upon him, and then he hurries back to his seat.

He feels like he can’t breathe before he sits down, then it all comes whooshing out of him in one big breath. The relief of it only lasts a few seconds, right until he sees the look on Sana’s face.

That _just got caught_ look, that _I’m so pissed off right now_ look, that _I can’t believe this_ or the variation _I can believe this, I just really hoped it wouldn’t happen_ look.

Because then Isak sees where her attention is at. His phone. Which is lit up, the number 12:12 stark white against his dark background, and showing a message-notification from _Vilde_.

 _Are you and Even married?!??_ And shortly after another one _So are you gay?_

It feels… it feels like a stab to the heart and like someone has tied an elastic around his lungs and like he has weights attached to his feet and someone has thrown him into a pool, and he’s just sinking, sinking, sinking.

Sana looks at him out of the corner of her eye. She’s biting her lip and clearly debating whether or not it would be more helpful if she said something or remained quiet.

There’s no way she didn’t see the messages. Isak doesn’t even know if there had been more than just the two that had lit up his phone for her to see while he was up at the desk. There could’ve been a million for all he knows, and he only saw the two from Vilde.

He’s out of his chair, out of the _room_ , before Sana has a chance to say a word.

Isak speedwalks down the hallway to get to the exit. He bumps into a group of people, barely remembering to apologize in his haste to worm around them, to get out, get out, _get out_.

“ _Shit, isn’t that him –_ “ he hears before he rounds the corner, throws himself against the automatic door opener and stumbles outside.

He takes in a big gulp of fresh air, feels how it gets stuck somewhere in his throat, none of it reaching his lungs.

 _Fuck_.

He’s got his module coming up now, and going outside means taking the long way around, unless he wants to go back inside and face that group of people, risk facing _Sana_.

His legs are moving before Isak is aware of it, taking him the long way around the building.

It’s probably a bigger risk, walking around outside like this, but Isak doubts people can’t whisper and sneak photos of him inside as well. Not that that is a particularly comforting thought, either.

His phone feels like it’s burning a hole through his pocket. It hasn’t vibrated once since Vilde’s messages, but Isak is still wavering on the edge of wanting to check _just in case_ and letting it remain in his pocket.

He can’t even explain the way he feels about it – if he’s just pissed because Sana saw, Sana whom he has to work together with for the rest of the semester, or because _Vilde_ , whom he _knows_ , was the one to ask him like that. Isak doesn’t doubt that he probably has a few similar messages in his inbox, but he doesn’t have any close friends besides the boys, Eva’s girls, and Eskild and Linn, and none of them – _besides Vilde_ – have been forward enough to ask him to his face, even as he had to practically scare the boys into not asking questions, and Eskild was told before everyone else were really made aware.

Isak pushes a door open to one of the side-buildings, hoping he can cut through it to get to the classroom from the back. There shouldn’t be a lot of people loitering around here, which is mainly why Isak does it, risking three locked doors if he’s really unlucky, just to get some peace and quiet for _two minutes, please_.

“Isak!” someone yells from behind, and Isak _can’t_ deal with anyone else wanting to talk to him, he _can’t_.

He quickens his pace, turns a corner and half walks, half jogs down the hall, hoping to lose whoever was calling for him.

“Isak!”

He hasn’t. Whoever it is sounds closer and a lot more winded than at the first shout, and Isak realizes he’s going to have to give up unless he wants to start actually running for it.

“Hey!” a hand curls around his shoulder.

It’s not harsh, there’s not even a squeeze, but all the alarm bells in Isak’s head start ringing at the contact and he jerks himself out of the grip. His back ends up pressed against the wall, his shoulder blades pressing harshly into it and he nearly knocks the back of his head out as well as he stares wide-eyed and angrily up at the person.

He’s reached the end of his fuse and all his pent-up anger is about to be unleashed over –

Mikael is standing in front of him, holding both hands up with his palms flat as he stumbles a few steps backwards to put more space in-between the two of them.

“Woah!” he tries to grin, but he’s too worried for it to come out properly. “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Isak’s heart is pounding. He is standing in front of Mikael. Best bud Mikael. He is talking to _Mikael_.

Or, Mikael is talking to _him_ , because Isak’s mouth has stopped working sometime between leaving the flat and being stopped in the hall by _Mikael_.

“I, uh –“ Mikael gestures to Isak vaguely, looking a bit uncomfortable, and all Isak can focus on is _why_ , because, is it Isak? Is it that Even had a secret relationship? Is it that it was with a _guy_? “I thought it was you. I’ve kind of been looking for you. I – I recognized you from the back.”

Isak arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Mikael flushes and looks a cross between mildly horrified and scolded. “Shit, no, I didn’t –“ his hands flail wildly at the back of his own head. “The hair! Like, you from the back, it’s the only side of you I’ve ever seen. Not that I –“

He cuts himself off before he can make it any worse with whatever was about to be thrown out of his mouth.

“I meant,” Mikael closes his eyes and purses his lips as he tries to figure out what he’d wanted to say, “that, when I recently thought back over the years, I’ve seen you sometimes, but only from the back. Whenever we ran into Even in public, he’d always be staring in one direction for a little too long, and when I turned to look there was always some curly-haired blond kid walking away.”

Isak can feel the heat rising up in his cheeks. He remembers all those times, remembers the first time he’d run into Even accidentally in public and his friends had been with him. Thank god they live in such a heteronormative society that Mikael hadn’t even questioned why Even apparently was staring at a _guy_.

“I saw the picture – I mean,” Mikael winces, tries again, “I saw – there was – Even is staying with you, right?” finally settling on something. “I’ve tried his phone, but he hasn’t picked up.”

“It’s probably run out of battery,” Isak’s face feels numb, it feels a bit like someone else is talking. Seeing Mikael up close, _talking_ to him when a few years ago seeing Mikael would’ve meant _run, hide, deflect_ is such an odd experience, it’s really throwing Isak for a loop. “Or maybe he’s turned it off.”

Definitely the former, if Even hasn’t changed since Isak knew him. He’s always been particularly destructive with his phone-usage during an episode, even the minor ones Isak had been there to experience, so Isak is at least glad to know Even hasn’t managed to do something he’ll regret when he doesn’t feel as horrible as he does right now.

Mikael nods, scuffs his shoes a bit. Isak can see the tension in his shoulders. What a weird experience this must be for him as well – talking to his best friend’s secret former beau, when he’d only been told about it at the same time as the rest of the world.

“I just, I wanted to check, see how he’s doing.”

“He was sleeping when I left,” Isak tells him, tries not to feel weird about actually talking to someone about Even when he’s like this for the first time ever. He hadn’t been able to before, because asking someone for help would mean having to tell them about Even, or Even having to tell them about Isak, but seeing as that had never happened, Isak had relied on intuition and Google. “He’ll probably have some lunch by the time I get back. It’s still early on, so he’ll sleep for a while.”

Mikael scuffs his shoes again. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I just – I got spooked,” he shrugs, doesn’t meet Isak’s eyes, “what, with what happened last time it was a big one.”

Isak frowns, his heartbeat picking up a notch. He thinks _this_ time is plenty bad enough, he can’t really imagine something _worse_ – at least sit would’ve made the news, and if Isak hadn’t discovered it in his weakest moments Magnus would’ve talked their ears off about it.

Whatever face he’s pulling, Mikael looks like he’s said too much.

“Anyway, I –“

“What – what hap-“ Isak fumbles with the words, his throat tight. Mikael flinches.

“Have you talked to Sonja?” he asks instead. “She’ll want to know where he is –“

“I – yes, I’ve talked to her.”

 _Sonja_. A thousand needles prickles inside of Isak’s body at the mention of her name. It’s not like _he_ was the one who’d been married to Even or anything. Isak doesn’t mention she barely spared a second to ask how Even was doing before she was moving on with business, doesn’t know what it _means_ concerning _Sonja and Even_.

Mikael takes a step back, but Isak reacts quicker than his brain can follow and grabs a hold of his jacket.

“What – Mikael, what _happened_?”

Mikael winces, doesn’t look Isak in the eye. Isak doesn’t let go of his jacket.

“It –“ Mikael shrugs helplessly, accidentally getting out of Isak’s grip. Isak’s hand falls uselessly against his side. “He just – he got _too_ low, if you…” he trails off, shakes his head. “Anyway, I know things must’ve gotten really messed up, back then,” Mikael frowns, “but I’m glad he’s got you to take care of him. That’s all.”

Isak can’t swallow, his throat has closed up. “Okay.”

Mikael attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite fit right. “Tell him to call when he’s feeling better, alright?”

“Okay,” Isak repeats, stumbling over his own feet when he tries to take a step backwards. He’s supposed to head the other way, past Mikael, but Isak can’t get his feet to work, can’t do anything but round the corner, holding up a hand towards Mikael in an awkward wave.

He can’t breathe properly. He hears Mikael walk away, and he still can’t breathe properly.

He has his tutorial next, but he can’t go there, not right now, he _can’t_. He switches route and heads for the labs instead.

It’s all too much. It’s _all_ _too much_ , all of it, and Isak feels like he’s suffocating under the stares and the whispers. He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He rushes down the hall until he gets to the more secluded student laboratories. They’re old and haven’t been updated for ages, and no one really uses them in favor of the cooler, bigger ones closer to the lecture hall, even as they’re designed for multiple people to use at the same time.

He runs his student ID through the slot, his hands nearly shaking too badly that he misses several times, types in the code and pushes the door open when it buzzes.

Isak stumbles over the entrance and bangs his shoulder into one of the high tables. It _hurts_ and he tries to clutch his hand around it to alleviate the pain as he crumbles onto the floor.

It’s like with the added physical pain it all just falls down around him. All the walls he’s spent his entire life building up fall, his will to get up and finish the day disappears and his resolve to _not cry_ is gone and the tears are streaming out of his eyes.

An ugly sob is torn out of his throat. Isak has to let go of his shoulder so he can stuff the cuff of his hoodie into his mouth to muffle any other noises that might escape.

A lot of noises end up escaping anyway.

He wants to call Magnus, wants to know for sure that Even is still there, that he’s lying in his bed, that he’s sleeping, that he’s had something to eat, that he’s –

Isak’s hands are shaking. It makes it more difficult to muffle the noises with each slip of his hand. He thumps his head back against the cupboard behind him to mask it, but it just makes him sore.

It’s not – it’s not like this is only about what Mikael had implied, a breakdown like this is never about just one thing. Even having apparently – that he – that – _that_ is only the last drop falling on top of an already completely full glass, causing everything to spill over.

Isak is exhausted. He’s so, so tired, his body feels heavy with it. His head is pounding, his nose is stuffed, and he can’t stop crying.

He can’t stop crying and he can’t breathe – not like the panic attack, not _can’t breathe_ as in he’s about to die any second now, but _can’t breathe_ as in everything inside of him is clogged up and everything hurts and he keeps crying, keeps _sobbing_.

His breath comes out in small hitches, little gasps trying to suck in more air than he’s letting out. It makes the sobbing sound awful, completely ratchet, and for some reason the thought pops into Isak’s head that he has his tutorial he needs to get to, but everyone will know he’s been crying, will talk about why he’s crying because everyone wants to talk about _Even Bech Næsheim_ like he isn’t an actual person.

Like the world can tell Isak is thinking about it, wishing to never be a part of it again, the electronic lock buzzes, the door opening. Isak bites down on his lip hard to keep quiet, despite knowing it won’t work.

His vision is blurry, too blurry to see who it is. All he sees is some misshapen, black blob – a blob Isak knows, he realizes.

Sana doesn’t say anything when she shuts the door behind her. Her steps echo slightly in the otherwise empty room, small taps of the soles of her shoes against the linoleum floor. _Tap, tap, tap_ until she reaches him.

She lowers herself down next to him, first just crouching down with her back against the cupboard next to Isak’s, then she plops down fully on the ground.

She still doesn’t say anything. Isak can’t fight the sob that breaks out. Sana just stays there, right next to him, her bag left by the door in a sad attempt of a blockade.

It’s not until Isak feels like he’s momentarily run out of tears, cheeks sticky and neck clammy, sweatshirt ruined with dark blotches all over that Sana says something. His lungs still aren’t great, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to suffocate – it’s not like breathing has been easy for so long by now, anyway, Isak reasons with himself.

“Noora’s told me that ‘ _people need people_ ’, but… I don’t know what to do with crying people,” Sana confesses. She’s staring into the air, doesn’t dare look over at Isak.

It startles a laugh out of Isak, and not a pretty one at that. There’s snot and tears all over and he’s pretty sure he looks hideous, but it feels like his lungs work a little better than before.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to _do_ anything with them.”

Sana rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” because he does, but that doesn’t mean he knows what to do with crying people either.

They’re quiet for a couple of minutes. The silence doesn’t feel as suffocating as it had before – maybe because Isak is sharing the silence now. Everything is supposed to be easier when you share. Share the load, share the burden.

“Maybe,” he has to stop and wet his lower lip before he can continue. “Maybe just don’t tell anyone. About this. You don’t have to do anything more for me.”

Sana doesn’t turn to look at Isak and Isak doesn’t turn to look at Sana. He does give in to the urge to see what she looks like, but only out of the corner of his eye.

She’s smiling, but it doesn’t look real. It looks sad and absolutely fake and a bit pained at that, and Isak almost wants to ask if there’s something wrong, except he can kind of gather what it is that made her look like that.

Maybe she thinks enough people are talking about Isak as is. She doesn’t have to add any more fuel to the fire.

Isak wipes his face on his sleeve. He’ll have to just wear a t-shirt and his jacket for the rest of the day if he wants to get away with keeping this mini-breakdown a secret. His hoodie is wet from tears and saliva from when he’d stuffed it in his mouth to keep quiet, and there really isn’t a doubt what he’s just been doing, even if people somehow don’t notice the red puffiness of his eyes.

Sana doesn’t comment on it even though it must be disgusting. Isak would be disgusted by it, but it’s his own body’s fluids, and it’s a bit of a special circumstance so he’s willing to forgive himself.

Sana helps him get his things in order. Isak pulls off his hoodie and stuffs it in the bottom of his backpack, and then Sana rearranges everything to lie on top so it’s covered.

“You’re a good friend, you know that?” he tells her when they’re nearly ready to leave. He just has to pull on his jacket and they’re good to go.

She snorts, rolls her eyes and huffs at him, but her cheeks are a bit flushed and she refuses to meet his eyes. “Piss off, would you?”

Isak grins widely. His cheeks still feel sticky and the stretch makes it scratch at his skin. “My best bud,” he teases in English.

“We are _not_ best buds,” she tells him as she opens the door, not waiting to make sure Isak has a hold of it before she’s stepped through, ready to let it slam shut. Isak nearly drops his bag in his hurry to catch the door so he doesn’t get smacked in the face by an inanimate object.

“We are a _little bit_ best buds.”

Isak is taller than her so it’s easy to catch up, even as she’s practically power walking down the hall. She slows down when he’s next to her. She glares up at him, but Isak just grins wider, because it’s obvious she’s fighting a smile.

“ _Little bit_ best buds,” she concedes and leads him up the stairs so she can sit in with him in a module she doesn’t have.

That in itself qualifies as more than just ‘ _a little bit_ ’ best buds. They both know it does.

OOOOO

The apartment is quiet when Isak finally gets home. He’s freezing, the wind too cold just for a t-shirt and his jacket as he hadn’t dared pulling out his hoodie once Sana led him away from campus and waited for the tram with him.

Magnus hasn’t been gone for more than six minutes, Isak knows, because he texted him when he left to hear if Isak was nearly back. _Woke up, like, an hour ago. Had something to eat, but didn’t say a lot. Went back to sleep afterwards. Don’t worry too much, ‘s all good! Quote Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson_

Isak resisted the urge to text back that Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson had in no way ever said that, but he knew he was only going to get another fake quote back, so he’d just texted back his thanks and braced himself for the circus by the entrance of his building.

Even is still in bed when Isak checks in on him. At least he’s moved, reassuring Isak that Magnus hadn’t been lying. His back is to the door, so Isak can’t see if he’s awake or not, and it suddenly feels too awkward and invasive to walk all the way around his bed just to see if Even’s eyes are open or not.

“ _Hei_ ,” he whispers instead, peeking past the door frame. He doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare move, just in case Even actually has fallen asleep again and Isak will end up waking him accidentally.

The sheets start shuffling before Isak can see Even actually moving. His heart is stuck in his throat for a moment, then Even is turning onto his back.

He’s staring at the ceiling, not moving to look at Isak, but that’s okay. Isak can see that his eyes are open and that he’s awake.

Even blinks slowly, the drag of his eyelashes clearly feeling like a struggle, and now Isak’s heart is stuck in his throat for another reason. Mikael’s insinuation still a little too close to not meticulously pay attention to each small detail.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Even doesn’t reply. He can’t muster up the strength to say anything, and Isak feels like sobbing despite being sure he’s cried himself out of tears already, but he pulls himself back together.

Instead, he just starts talking, up and down about everything; he knows Even is listening. He moves from the doorway to the foot of the bed, Even’s eyes following his movement, but stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes.

Isak is still talking, slowly and quietly so Even can go back to sleep if he wants to. It’s nothing particularly interesting, the topics falling out of his mouth so seamlessly Isak almost wonders if he and Even had ever stopped talking, that the past few years haven’t just been a fever-nightmare.

He considers mentioning Mikael, but he isn’t sure Even wants to know about anyone outside of their little bubble right now, and he also isn’t sure if Even is okay with Isak having talked to Mikael, so he lets it lie for now.

It’s nothing personal he talks about, either, because as much as he wishes the past couple of years had just been a nightmare, as dissociating is it to see Even in his bed, in his apartment that he shares with his best friends that Even wasn’t around long enough to ever hear about, in Isak’s life that hasn’t had Even in it for _two years_. Talking about something close to heart, the way they’d somehow always been able to _back then_ , it’s – it doesn’t fit in with the Isak of the now. He’s not the same, and he doubts Even is either.

Even has been asleep for a little over an hour when Isak gets up off the bed and slips out the door quietly. He crashes on the couch, no more energy left in his body after the day he’s had.

He wakes up the next morning when Even does – way too early, unable to sleep any longer – wandering out of Isak’s room with a slow gait, gaze slightly vacant. His hair is greasy, and the bags underneath his eyes are still too deep, too purple, looking too much like two sets of bruises.

It’s nearing four am. They’re sitting on Isak’s bedroom floor with a bowl of cereal each, facing the window with the side of the bed against their backs. They don’t watch the sun rise because the curtains are still drawn. Neither of them make a move to open them up, neither of them dare to.

Isak can feel the heat of Even against his right arm. It would probably feel so much like old times if they weren’t disturbingly quiet.

Well, Even was always quiet during the lows, even when they hadn’t been as extreme as this one seems to be, but any other morning where they’d do this – most mornings in general – he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about anything and everything.

Isak stirs the cocoa puffs around, watches as the milky brown turns darker and darker with each press of the spoon. It’s easier to look at the food than it is to look at Even. He doesn’t have to wonder when that happened, he already knows.

The spoon clatters against the ceramic rim of the bowl when Isak accidentally lets go. Even looks at him for a beat too long, Isak can feel it even as he doesn’t look up to check, but he doesn’t say anything. Before long he’s gone back to eating his own cereal.

Isak doesn’t go out the following days.

He stays off of the internet as much as possible, doesn’t want to know what people are saying about Even, about him, about him and Even, about anything at all, in fact. Sana keeps sending him her notes unprompted, and Isak constantly wonders why the hell she would ever decide to bless _him_ with her friendship when he doubts he’s earned it.

Same goes for the boys.

None of them complain about the media circus they have to walk through, about having to field questions they’re asked about _their gay roommate and his secret marriage_ , about having Even around. Instead they’re constantly around; working in shifts that Isak hasn’t figured out the system of yet, figures they probably have a secret group chat where they work it out impromptu, asking if Isak needs help, ready to step in and make sure Even is alright.

It’s at times like that that Isak feels particularly overwhelmed with the feeling of how not _alone_ he is.

He’s been alone for so long he doesn’t remember what to do to reach out to other people, to ask for help, and he can’t even remember what he did to make Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus think, _you know, he’s alright that one_ , because he’d been drunk or pissed their entire first semester, and stressed and pissed for the second term, but somehow they did, and they still do, and they don’t bother waiting for Isak to ask – probably because they know the wait would be futile, Isak would never think to ask – they just _offer_ and _do it_.

Sometimes during the quietest moments of the nights, when Isak has the most trouble falling asleep, he feels a bit like crying at the thought of his three friends.

Days pass like this – with Isak switching between hovering over Even and trying to salvage whatever is left of his degree, sleeping on the couch, resulting in an increasing amount of back pain each night.

He does his assignments to force himself into thinking about something else. Half the time it doesn’t work, but he isn’t falling horribly behind anymore. Then he spends a lot of time not looking any of the boys in the eye.

That makes him feel like shit as well, because they’ve been nothing but nice and really great friends during this entire ordeal, but Isak –

Isak doesn’t know what he’ll see when he looks. He’s not sure he wants to know – or, he does, but he won’t be able to handle it if it’s bad. Not on top of everything else.

He checks in on Even again, sees he’s still sleeping, but it’s been less and less over the past couple of days, so Isak suspects he’ll wake up soon.

It feels odd standing around in his own room when Even is there, almost creepy in a sense, but that’s probably because Even is asleep. It leaves Isak feeling a bit beside himself, because first of all he’s never felt like this when he’d been with Even before, not when they’d shared everything and been so desperate to have a space for themselves, but that _was_ years ago and second of all because _this_ is _Isak’s room_. It’s where he’s hidden himself away from the world when everything was just _too much_ , when he’d been sure he was one step away from fucking up and everyone _knowing_.

Isak is careful about shutting the door behind him, it clicking in place seemingly louder than normal because of his intention to be quiet.

He’d heard the boys get in a while ago. He can smell the lingering scent of food, doesn’t know if he hopes for leftovers or not, probably not with how simultaneously jittery and exhausted he feels.

They’re still in the kitchen; Isak can hear them as he tiptoes closer. Not that they’re loud, they’re clearly consciously trying to keep quiet so as to not wake Even up.

Mahdi’s sitting on the window sill, back against his own sheets that they still haven’t taken down. They color the room an odd, muted golden because of the sunlight trying to break through unsuccessfully. Magnus is finishing up the last of the dishes, snapping the dishtowel at Jonas when he tries to grab a clean glass to get some water.

“Yo,” Mahdi startles him, nodding in a greeting like he usually would, but there’s a look to him that makes it obvious there’s nothing normal about this.

Jonas gives up stealing a glass from Magnus’ clutches in favor of focusing on Isak.

“Hey,” Jonas’ voice is gentle, but there’s a worry in his eyes that makes Isak squirm. Jonas frowns. “Have you slept?”

“When?” Isak evades, but not well enough.

Jonas snorts. “At all.”

Isak looks down at the floor to avoid any of their gazes. He hates this – probably why he’s practically been avoiding the boys the past couple of days unless he desperately needs help. He doesn’t know what possessed him to not continue like that right now.

And then he remembers Even sleeping in his room and how _not right_ it had felt to be there, how wrong it feels to be in any room of the house when he never expected to ever be in the same place as Even again. That’s why.

Doesn’t make it any easier to just _stand_ here like this with them watching him. Isak is sick of feeling like his skin is crawling from all the sets of eyes that are on him. When he strides forward to grab the same glass Jonas had been trying to get, Magnus doesn’t try to swat at him with the dishtowel.

“Even is asleep, right?” Jonas asks.

Isak turns the tap on, lets the water run colder and colder. It numbs the tips of his fingers when he tests the temperature. “Yeah.”

“You were up pretty early, weren’t you?” Magnus asks, putting away the last of the plates. “I thought I heard you moving around.”

Isak nods, doesn’t really know what to say. He’s so tired, and he’s tired of feeling like – like _this_ , like he’s constantly trying to stand on his feet, but he doesn’t have any balance to stay up. It’s disorientating and confusing and absolutely exhausting, and Isak is _tired_ of feeling like he’s an extra piece that just doesn’t fit in with the rest of the puzzle.

The water shuts off. Isak registers the lack of sound before he feels it on his fingers. Jonas’ hand is still on the tap. Isak’s hand is still wavering mid-air, his other holding the empty glass like an idiot.

It’s quiet in the kitchen. Isak feels it like a weight upon his shoulders, holding him down.

Mahdi’s the one who breaks it.

“You look like you’re going to fall over,” he says, not needing to specify who he’s speaking to. He nods towards the space next to him. “Just, come on.”

Isak doesn’t move. He still just stands there by the sink, holding an empty glass until Jonas gently grabs onto his elbow and makes him put it down.

“Is,” he mutters, “you can’t keep going like this.”

And the worst part is that it’s the truth, Isak _can’t_ keep going like this. Not only because he’s hiding away in his apartment which is an option that won’t keep being viable, but because Isak isn’t okay, hasn’t been okay for so, _so_ long and he doesn’t know how to get himself to a place where he can get better.

So he lets Jonas maneuver him over to the window, sits down next to Mahdi, Jonas pressed against his left side and Magnus takes a seat on Mahdi’s right side.

 _People need people_ , he thinks of Sana telling him. He can feel the sun warming up his back through the window.

He doesn’t know where to start – he’s never done this before, never said the words. Where is he supposed to start? Meeting Even? When Even left? An apology?

“You’re, like, properly fucked up over him, aren’t you?” Jonas states quietly, lightly puffing at him with his shoulder.

Isak snorts. He would’ve figured that was a given by now, but apparently Jonas still felt the need to ask him directly.

“What _happened_?” Jonas whispers, voice soft but desperate.

Isak thinks he should feel sad. He does, sort of, but almost in a detached kind of way. He doesn’t even register that his bum is starting to go numb from sitting in the same position on a hard surface for so long, barely notices the warmth of Jonas and Mahdi on either side of him. He’s so tired, so, _so_ tired and he can barely pull himself together enough to open up his mouth and answer.

“I met him when I was fifteen.”

He remembers Even back then; all floppy hair and bomber jacket and so, so beautiful, full of ideas and dreams – so different from the meek, quiet boy who had showed up outside their door.

“There’s never been anyone but him,” Isak admits. He feels like he should be crying, but his eyes feel almost too dry instead. He can’t blink, doesn’t know how to stop looking out into the hallway, really. “For so long, I couldn’t imagine spending my life without him, and then one day I had to imagine it with everyone _but_.”

The confession _hurts_ , like someone is forcing a knife into his heart because Isak fucking _remembers_ those months, as hard as he’d tried not to by drowning himself in booze and whatever weed or pills he could come across.

“I still haven’t figured out how to do that,” he whispers, like if he doesn’t say it too loudly, it won’t be true, he could still pull off being suave, being so in control of his life that of course he knows how to live without Even, he’s figured it all out already.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Magnus asks. Isak thinks he sounds so incredibly sad, sad enough for the both of them because Isak feels the indifference coloring his voice like a self-defense mechanism so engrained he doesn’t know how to turn it off.

Isak shrugs. “Didn’t know how to.”

“Did we,” Jonas gulps, like he’s afraid of asking the question because he isn’t certain he wants to know the answer. “Did we make you think you… couldn’t tell us?”

To be honest, there had been many times; bad jokes and wrongly phrased comebacks that left a bigger impact than Isak was willing to admit, but he knows none of the boys are homophobic. Still, there’s always a difference in saying you’re not homophobic and then actually having a friend, a friend you _live with_ , be gay and Isak just wasn’t ready or willing to take that chance.

“Didn’t tell anyone.”

A secret like that, so big and personal, had felt like a massive weight on Isak’s shoulders, constantly weighing him down. Sometimes, really late at night, he’d imagine what it would be like if everyone knew and no one left him because of it, how much lighter he would feel.

Well, they all know now, but Isak doesn’t feel any better about it. He feels _worse_.

“No one?” Jonas frowns. “Not even Eskild?”

Eskild would’ve been the obvious choice if Isak were to tell someone, probably would’ve been the first person he told if he’d been in a different universe. But in this universe Isak had kept his mouth shut until someone else opened it for him.

Isak shakes his head. “No. Just spent ages sneaking around behind everyone’s back and lying to their faces.”

Mahdi clears his throat. “So you meet him at fifteen – he was what, seventeen? And you fall in love –“ Isak’s insides tighten at how easily it’s said, as if keeping it a secret had never been as big of a deal as it had felt, “– and then _what_? Like, how did it get so bad? ‘Cause, like, you got the certificate, you would’ve had to have been together for three years for you to be eighteen, so what –“ he trails off, shaking his head.

The thing is, things _hadn’t_ gone bad, not like they do in a normal situation. It hadn’t been like that, and to this day Isak still can’t wrap his head around it properly for how sudden it had come.

Even to the tee, he thinks, folding one leg up to he can rest his head on his knee, hiding away a bit. There one second, gone the next.

Isak doesn’t know how to tell them about that, though, so he gives the briefest overview he possibly could; talks about moving in together – doesn’t tell them about proposing or about getting married because he doesn’t think he can actually say the words out loud. He definitely doesn’t talk about the cabin, because that memory is too good, reminds him too much of a time he’d never been happier, and it’s just too sore of a moment to think about, let alone share out loud. He tells them about Even’s job instead, about how he’d worked longer and longer hours, about him getting into film school and meeting more of the right people, about the one in a million lifetimes opportunity.

Talking about Even isn’t cathartic, not in the way Isak had always hoped it would feel. Instead it leaves him feeling hollow inside and like a vice is squeezing tighter and tighter around his heart, because talking about Even like this just serves to remind Isak that Even had been the center of his world, and Isak just hadn’t realized it wasn’t mutual.

He got the message loud and clear, though, when Even fucked off to the other side of the world and never came back. When he left Isak behind to go over it over and over again, about how stupid he’d ever been for thinking he could’ve been the center of Even’s world as well.

Isak forcefully blinks to clear his eyes of tears. He isn’t going to cry, he won’t.

So he forces his thoughts away from that topic, tells them about starting at university only because he’d applied before everything went horribly, horribly bad, and how he’d been desperate to get out of their shared apartment so he’d jumped at the chance of student housing. About how it had been his opportunity to get away from everything _Even_ , even if it just meant that he got drunk in a different setting.

“You must’ve hated me,” Magnus mutters. He’s trying to make it sound like it’s funny, like a ‘ _ha, ha, I was constantly bringing up the person who hurt you, what a laugh_ ’, but he sounds too guilty about it.

“At first,” Isak admits. He can sense Magnus is coiled, tensed up. “But I liked everything else about you, so I figured I could let Jonas and Mahdi deal with the fangirling.”

Magnus breathes out from his nose a bit harsher than usual, but other than that doesn’t outwardly react.

“Besides,” Isak adds when he can’t handle the silence anymore, “technically, we had something in common from the get-go, which is more than I can say for Mr. capitalism-is-the-root-of-all-evil over there.”

“Hey,” Jonas protests, but it’s halfhearted at best.

Isak’s distraction had been as well, though. He draws in a shaky breath, too loud for how still all of them are.

“I still haven’t said it, you know?” Isak stares blankly ahead of him even as he can feel Jonas’, Mahdi’s and Magnus’ eyes on him. “Out loud. I never said it.”

“Jesus,” Jonas whispers. “Jesus.”

“Do you want to?” Mahdi asks, hesitantly, like he isn’t sure it’s the proper time to ask.

Isak snorts. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it? Everyone already knows.”

Mahdi rolls his eyes. “Not like that. You, actually saying the words out loud. Doesn’t matter who hears them or that we all know already. Maybe it’ll be good for you.”

Isak can’t imagine anything being good for him – nothing has been good for so long that he doesn’t really know how to get to the opposite end.

“I should,” he concedes. The glass is slowly warming up against his back, but it’s from their combined body warmth and not from the sun outside. “I should say it. When all of _this_ ,” meaning Even being down and getting the press off of their, his, backs, of getting back to his daily rhythm going to uni and coming home to his boys, “is over, I need to be able to say it.”

Isak gulps. He can’t believe he’s actually about to say the words. It’s been so, so long, and he still doesn’t feel like he’s at a point where he wants the words to be out there, no matter how much they already are.

“Maybe it’ll be good,” Jonas suggest. “Getting to, like, ‘come out’ yourself.”

Isak can’t help but flinch. “I’m not – I mean, I –“ it’s so engrained in him to deny, deny, _deny_ , that he almost doesn’t stop to think that _that_ isn’t even the part he’s denying. “I wasn’t talking about saying I’m, about – about the _guys_ part, I was talking about –“ Isak gulps and curls his hands into fists to get them to _stop shaking_ , “I was talking about how I have to be able to say ‘ _I’m married_ ’ to be able to say ‘ _I’m divorced_ ’.”

“Fuck,” Magnus swears. Isak feels it in his bones.

“Is that what you are?” Jonas asks.

Isak shrugs. “No fucking clue.” It probably is. He’d never been contacted by a lawyer after signing the papers, but he doesn’t know anything about the entire process of being divorced – does it involve the court and lawyers, or is that just American movies being dramatic?

It makes him feel unsettled – more so than he already is, which is impressive by itself. The boys certainly get the message to stay off of that topic for a little while yet, at least, despite how much Isak can tell they’re itching to know, to help.

“I just –“ something gets stuck in his throat. There are lights dancing in front of his eyes from how teary they are. “I just really thought –“ he squeezes his eyes shut, swallows, and shakes his head and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey,” Jonas protests immediately, grabbing a hold of Isak’s arm. “Come on, don’t say that, that’s not fair.”

 _Isn’t it_? Isak wants to ask but doesn’t. He’s pretty certain that it is a fair question to ask, because he’s never felt so stupid in his entire goddamn life as he does when he thinks about Even and lawyers and so many papers and signatures.

“I love him,” he whispers, digs his nails into his knee. “He broke my heart, and I’m in fucking love with him. And I know he loved me back, that it wasn’t fake, but I just – I don’t know when he stopped, what I did to make him stop loving me.”

“Isak…” Jonas sounds horribly sad, and Isak is so tired of making his friends sad. He’s tired of being sad, because he _is_. He’s not fine. He hasn’t been fine for so long – for a while he’d thought he’d figured it out, that moving into this flatshare with his boys had been the answer, had been the push he needed to finally be a better version of himself, but he hadn’t even had the chance to test it out before everything went a hundred times worse than they’d been at the beginning.

“ _Fy faen_ , this is so fucking depressing,” Magnus sniffles, wiping at his eyes before he slaps both of his knees and jumps up. “Alright, that’s it, come on, group hug, we’re doing it.”

“Huh?”

“ _What_?”

But no amount of protesting stops Magnus from grabbing on to Jonas and Mahdi, and then Isak gets pulled along unwillingly as well.

“I’m _way_ too tall for this,” Isak complains immediately, trying to bow out, but the boys won’t let him, Magnus already folding them all around Isak to keep him in place.

“Bend down, then, bitch,” Mahdi orders, which is how Isak ends up with a mouthful of Jonas’ curls and his forehead pressed against Mahdi’s ear.

“The girls do it all the time!” Magnus attempts to convince them even as they’re already in the middle of it. “Vilde told me so.”

“Oh? How long have you been speaking to Vilde?” Jonas shoves his hip against Magnus’, nearly unsettling all of them in the process.

Magnus flushes a bright red. “I – there was the party, you know, and, I just –“ then makes a lot of indistinguishable noises much to Jonas’ amusement.

“Christ, _please_ tell me it wasn’t your dried up come I found in my bed the day after,” Mahdi begs over Magnus’ continued blundering.

“No, that was Eskild’s,” Isak tells him, smothering his laugh in Mahdi’s shoulder at the following swearing at Isak for not having warned him.

He presses his face harder against Mahdi, wills himself to take deep breaths and not fucking cry. Mahdi smells like he always does – of cologne and himself and a hint of weed despite not having smoked any today. A hand grabs the back of Isak’s head, tugging his hair gently. Isak can’t tell who it is, knows he’ll probably cry if he looks up, so he just keeps his head down.

He squeezes his boys harder. They squeeze back.

OOOOO

“Takk,” Even says when Isak comes back from bringing his plate out.

It’s late, the room dark apart from the bright white light of the lamp on Isak’s desk, casting weird shadows on the wall and making both their faces look more gaunt and tired than Isak hopes they look normally.

It’s probably too much to hope for, though, Isak knows, considering the past couple of weeks. Isak definitely knows the purplish bags underneath his eyes are probably permanent by now. Even looks a little better after having spent the first couple of days mainly asleep, but there’s wariness and a tired look to him that doesn’t come from the need to sleep.

Even’s hair flops down awkwardly, half sticking up and the other half falling down in his eyes. He’s got more color in his cheeks than he did yesterday, and apart from the afternoon nap he’s been up for pretty much the entire day – and then some, seeing as Isak is fairly certain it’s nearing 2 am and they should’ve both gone to sleep hours ago, but eating hadn’t been the easiest today and the clock had run away from them by the time Isak had gotten Even to have a bite of toast and a cup of tea to settle down for the night.

“It’s nothing,” Isak tells him, means it too. He still thinks he should be angry, maybe – not at Even for having shown up like he had, just in general angry about everything that had gone so wrong, but he doesn’t feel angry. He’s honestly relieved that Even came here when he needed help, when he needed someone. Isak doesn’t really want to think about how awful it would’ve been had he just seen the award show and then had the complete radio silence the rest of the world has had to deal with.

He’s not in a hurry to spend another night on the couch, even if talking to the boys left him physically and mentally exhausted, and despite how much it sometimes hurts to look at Even, so deeply like someone is twisting around a knife that had been left inside of him, Isak doesn’t want to leave.

Even is huddled up against the headboard, legs curled up on top of the duvet and in the softest hoodie Isak owns.

Isak turns around to fiddle with the stuff littered around on his desk so he doesn’t have to see how soft Even looks.

“Are you tired?” he asks instead without turning around. He stacks a couple of books on top of each other, then restacks them according to color, then restacks them again according to size, the smallest on top.

When Even still hasn’t said anything, he rearranges them after the due dates of his assignment. That just makes him slightly depressed, so he puts them together randomly and covers them with a wad of notebooks.

There’s nothing left for him to fiddle with, but he can’t turn around to look at Even, he _can’t_. He wants to, but he doesn’t know what it will do to him if he does.

“Yeah,” Even sounds resigned when he realizes Isak won’t face him. Isak can hear rustling, the bed creaking when Even’s weight leaves it, the sound of steps as Even walks towards the door. “I’ll go brush my teeth.”

Isak lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding once the bathroom door has shut.

He chances a look over at the bed, feeling like an intruder in his own bedroom and like someone is going to fault him for not leaving as well now that Even has, which is _stupid_ because this is _Isak’s_ room.

The sheets are rumpled, a dip in the mattress left behind from where Even had been sitting. When Isak sits down at the foot of the bed, the duvet is still warm.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, knows he’ll regret it, but his body moves without his permission, and the next thing Isak knows is he’s lying down on his bed, shoulder bent uncomfortably underneath his own weight, but his nose is pressed against the sheets and Isak doesn’t want to move.

He can smell Even on them, the same scent as he’s always had, and a feeling of what Isak can only describe as _homesickness_ surges through him, leaving him so off kilter he nearly doesn’t hear when Even gets out of the bathroom.

He throws himself off of the bed just in time for Even to enter the room.

Even pauses at the door, looks Isak in the eyes. Isak is breathing too heavily to appear as casual as he tries to, a too wild look in his eyes and a flush to his cheeks.

“I’ll just –“ Isak starts, clears his throat when barely any sound comes out. “I’ll let you go to bed.”

He shuffles around, heading towards the door before realizing he’ll have to walk past Even, brush up against him to get out, so he stalls by the desk so Even has a safe distance to crawl onto the bed and let Isak leave without any close proximity to each other.

 _This is stupid_. Isak _feels_ stupid. Even if it’s been literal years since he last kissed Even, since he _slept_ with him, it’s not as if they’ve only been five feet apart since Even showed up on his doorstep. Isak has brushed his fingers through his hair, has folded his fingers around Even’s wrist, has squeezed his shoulder encouragingly to prompt Even into eating, moving, whatever.

Even doesn’t move. Or, he does, but he takes a step towards Isak, not towards the bed. Isak stands as if he’s rooted in place, not daring to blink in case he misses something.

“You could,” Even hesitates, looking like he’s so carefully thinking about his next words. “You could stay, if you want.”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a _very_ bad idea. It’s _such_ a bad idea, because Isak and Even have simultaneously got unfinished history and very much definitely finished history.

It’s not as if anything is going to happen if Isak were to stay – they’re both exhausted. Isak can see it on Even and he can feel it in his own bones, but just the idea of being near Even, of sleeping next to him for the entire duration of the night, or what’s left of it, it – it’s so much. Too much and not enough all at once and such a bad idea, and none of it changes the fact that Isak _wants_.

He nods carefully, slowly, barely enough movement for Even to recognize the assent for what it is.

Even breathes out deeply when he does realize Isak is agreeing, that he’s _staying_ , fuck. Fucking fuck.

Isak panics about it when he brushes his teeth – locking the door and spending a worryingly long amount of time staring into the mirror at his reflection. Then he panics some more about it as he walks back into his room.

Even is sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to pretend he hadn’t kept his eyes on the door to be sure Isak was coming back. Something tugs inside of Isak.

As Isak pulls off his sweatshirt, Even shoves himself backwards towards the side of the bed he’d always slept on when they’d shared a bed before. Something keeps tugging inside of Isak, something he desperately tries to ignore as he panics about what to wear for bed.

He keeps his t-shirt on, just like Even, but doesn’t strip to his boxers like Even has, sticks with his joggers instead. He’ll be uncomfortably hot and probably wake up in the middle of the night because of it, but he can barely handle the thought that in a few seconds he’ll lie next to Even, will spend _hours_ just lying next to _Even_ _and_ have to worry about their bare legs brushing during the night when they’re both under the covers.

He turns off the light, then trails back and shuts the door before he shuffles onto the bed himself, lifting the covers and settling stiffly onto his back.

The duvet is still warm from Even sitting on it earlier, but the pillows and sheets underneath him are cool and fresh. Isak can feel Even next to him, can hear his breathing in the darkness. He stares resolutely at the ceiling, not able to see anything before his eyes adjust to the lack of light.

“Thank you,” Even whispers. He’s lying on his back as well, just as stiffly as Isak is, careful not to touch despite how they’re sharing a bed and a duvet and space in each other’s lives.

Isak doesn’t know what he’s thanking him for, isn’t sure he wants to know either. Doesn’t know if it’s for agreeing to sleep here for tonight, or if it’s for everything in general, or if it’s so much deeper. He doesn’t know what he’d respond even if he did know.

 _You’re welcome_ isn’t personal enough for the two of them, but _any time_ and _always_ is too much _considering_. Maybe Isak should just keep it impersonal, maybe it’ll help him in the long run.

He nearly snorts. As if he’s ever thought about long-term consequences of his actions. If he had they wouldn’t be here right now.

“ _Selvfølgelig_ ,” he tells him instead, hopes Even doesn’t read too much into just how big a matter of course it is, that there wouldn’t be an Isak in any of the universes, including this one even back when he’d been completely fucked up and so _furious_ with Even, where Isak wouldn’t have let Even in.

He keeps hearing Even breathing – tunes into it really as it’s the only audible sound in the room apart from Isak’s heart pounding in his chest – hears how Even consciously tries to keep his breaths deep and even.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” Even finally whispers. “I’m sorry for being a burden.”

“Don’t say things like that.” There’s more venom in Isak’s voice than he’d usually put there, but he’d been sick and tired of Even saying those things back when they were together, and that hate hasn’t lessened with the time.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Even is exhausted, but there’s still bite in his tone. It makes red hot fury curl up in Isak’s stomach.

“No, it isn’t, actually.” It isn’t true at all, he wants to add, softer, but he can feel that all that will come out of his mouth will be snide remarks and harshly spoken words, so he keeps it shut.

It’s like saying Isak had been a burden back when Even’s career had been ‘make it or break it’ –

Isak freezes even as he didn’t say the words out loud. Because that’s what had happened. Isak had been the burden and Even had cut off the deadweight.

 _God_ , he’s tired and he’s hurting and he’s tired of always hurting.

He doesn’t have a way to fix this, fix any of it. Doesn’t know how to feel okay, doesn’t know how to rid Even of any backlash because of his episode, doesn’t have a wand he can wave around and make everything okay. Doesn’t even have any words of comfort, words of encouragement, he’s too worn out, stripped to the bones and left exposed to have any more left to give.

But neither of them will get any sleep tonight if they end it like this.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Even snorts irritated at him.

“No, really, I mean it,” Isak insists. “Give it a week and all people will be talking about is the ‘ _integrity_ ’ of your ‘ _art_ ’, you proper _artiste_ ,” Isak puts on a snooty voice that makes Even try to muffle a laugh into the duvet.

“Do a lot of running around naked at award shows, then?”

Isak tries desperately hard to keep the smile on his face, even though it’s too dark and Even won’t be able to tell one way or another. “Nah. I wouldn’t get away with it either – I’m no artist, people can sense that shit.”

“Are you seriously telling me that there has never been a scientist showing up for work buck-ass naked?”

Isak wracks his brain, because, yeah, when Even puts it like that, it sounds unlikely that it _hasn’t_ happened.

“Some of us are just eccentric.”

Even barks out a laugh too loud for the hour, and Isak is giggling too much to shush him properly. It feels like they’re sixteen and eighteen again and they’re lying under the covers in Isak’s bed in the Kollektiv, and they have to be quiet so Eskild doesn’t come to investigate what Isak could possibly be laughing about at this hour.

“ _Eccentric_!” Even laughs too loudly, but Isak doesn’t want to quiet him. “That’s certainly a word for it! ‘ _Oh, just ignore the naked man in the room, that’s just my_ eccentric _husba_ -“ both of them freeze.

Suddenly they aren’t sixteen and eighteen and they aren’t in the Kollektiv. They are twenty and twenty-two and they’re in Isak’s apartment that he shares with his three friends, because he and Even aren’t even together anymore.

A car passes by on the street outside, loud music spilling out of it as whoever’s driving around whoops excitedly. Isak can’t tell if it adds to the tension or helps dissolve some of it.

“You know,” Even whispers once it’s quiet again, “the only way to have something for infinite time is by losing it.”

Burning hot white fear rushes through Isak. He thinks of Mikael’s words, of how bad it had apparently gotten ‘ _last time_ ’, thinks of Even’s movies where the lovers never get what Isak would call a happy ending, the ‘ _epic love stories_ ’ as Even had always argued.

“Don’t say things like that.”

He doesn’t dare to breathe, too focused to pay attention to each inhale and exhale of Even’s, just to be sure he’s still there, he’s still breathing, he’s okay.

In the end he has to breathe in. It sounds too shaky and too obvious in the otherwise silent room, so Isak hurries to turn onto his side, facing away from Even.

It doesn’t help, doesn’t make his heart feel any less like it’s too big for his chest and falling apart because of it, but it means he can smother his face into the pillow, that he can curl up into a ball, that he can hide away from Even as the two of them hide away from the world.

It’s quiet for ages. Isak doesn’t feel any closer to sleep than he had when he’d first gotten in bed. Despite how much his body begs for the rest, his brain won’t comply.

“I didn’t know it meant having to choose,” Even whispers, sounding like he can’t bear it if the words aren’t out there, but also like he doesn’t want to wake Isak up on the off-chance he’s already fallen asleep.

Isak’s breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut harshly to stop the tears from welling up in them. It doesn’t work.

What is he even meant to say to that? ‘ _Well, it did_ ’ or ‘ _Now you know_ ’? Especially because the only thing Isak wants to say is, ‘ _I didn’t either_.’

“Let’s not do this now,” he settles for instead.

Even’s presence on the other side of the bed feels tense and stifling, and Isak almost wants to make an excuse just so he can go sleep on the couch instead – Even hadn’t asked for him to stay _this_ night after all.

“If you’re saying that because, because of – because I’m being mental, you can cut it out.”

Anger wells up in Isak so quickly his blood rushes through his body with too much heat. “I’m saying it,” he grits out through his teeth, “because it’s late and we’re both tired _and_ these past couple of weeks haven’t been easy for _either_ of us. Let’s not do this _now_.”

“Okay,” Even sounds more resigned than mollified, but neither of them is going to be getting things the way they’d like for them to be, not with how everything is right now.

 _Not ever_ , Isak doubts, folding his arms underneath his pillow so he can hide away easier, because anything they could want at this point would only be achievable in a fantasy world, not in this universe.

**_ Past _ **

It’s… odd, coming back to an empty apartment.

Isak has never really lived _alone_ , so to speak. His dad had been in and out of the house for longer than Isak can remember, but his mom had always been a stable presence wherever she’d choose to loiter – the only part Isak had experienced that had been stable in that godforsaken house.

He’d been isolated, definitely, but he hadn’t been completely on his own.

Moving in to the Kollektiv had meant living with both Eskild and Linn, and whilst Linn wasn’t exactly the most social roommate in the world, Eskild had done more than his fair share of inserting himself into Isak’s life.

And finally, living with Even. Isak had never felt alone the entire time he’d shared a physical home with Even, hadn’t felt alone when his home had _been_ Even.

 _He still is_ , Isak forcefully reminds himself in the particularly tough moments, as if he’d ever forget it. Forgetting wouldn’t be the hard part; it’s living with his home thousands upon thousands of kilometers away from where Isak is that’s the hard part.

It feels like the apartment feels the loss of Even as much as Isak does. The air is stuffy from Isak not throwing a window open for the entire day. He can’t bear it if the wind were to blow away the last remnant of Even’s scent on the sheets, on his clothes, in the apartment.

Even doesn’t text him when he gets to the airport, but he does text when he lands on his layover somewhere on the eastern coast of America. It’s in the very early hours of the morning, but Isak hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

He spends an embarrassingly long amount of time tracing over the shape of the letters of the _I love you_ Even had finished the text with.

Once Even gets a bit more settled, they spend several hours on facetime, any time either of them – Even – has a free moment to spare. It not even an exaggeration to say that Isak lives for those times, even if they’re short and Even is just on his way out the door to get to set, Isak _loves_ seeing Even happy and excited and full of life as he tells him all about what’s going on over in _America_ as Isak teases him with, over-pronouncing the syllables to make Even laugh.

Even explains everything so well it almost feels like Isak is there with him, all the way in America and not stuck in Oslo, Norway with the same daily routine day in and day out. It almost makes him miss Even a little less, but then they hang up and the pain inside him is tenfold.

It makes it nearly unbearable to spend his time in the empty apartment. When the first month and a half has passed and nothing smells of Even anymore apart from the pieces of clothes Isak had shoved all the way in the back of the dresser to ensure he wouldn’t lose Even’s scent completely, Isak caves and spends the night rooming with Eskild, then spends the next night on the couch because Eskild brought a guy home with him.

Eskild doesn’t ask questions, as much as Isak can tell that he wants to and it physically pains him to hold back. He just lets Isak in and talks up and down about how Noora has apparently for the past couple of days been staying with this _guy_ she’s been seeing – complete with a nose wrinkle, which tells Isak he’s about to be updated on just about every reason why Eskild doesn’t like this guy.

He forces himself not to make it a habit to stay with Linn and Eskild because it feels too much like giving up, like he’s weak. He misses Even terribly and he hates being alone in their apartment and he _misses Even_ , but he’s also so fucking proud of Even that it sort of makes it worth it. He just wants to shout to the world, “ _that’s my husband_!” except he doesn’t, because he still hasn’t quite figured out how to do that.

They celebrate Halloween together on Skype, Even answering the call completely dressed up as God much to Isak’s amusement, and then he spends nearly an hour chewing Isak out for having done nothing to prepare and guiding him through their closet until Isak has found a golden wreath and a red blanket he slings across his shoulders, proclaiming himself as Julius Caesar.

Even claims it suits him because Isak is fit to rule and will go down in history. Isak claims it’s because were he to go to a party, he too would get stabbed 23 times, which doesn’t deserve as much eye-rolling as Even gives him.

Isak doesn’t mention that it already feels like he’s gotten stabbed 23 times with the way Even is taking care of him halfway across the globe. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t make things better, any easier.

They time when they start the movies so they’re technically watching them together. Isak falls asleep around three am Norwegian time, which would only be in the evening for Even. He wakes up to the call having been ended, but Even has written him a message telling him he’s cute when he sleeps and that he loves him. Isak takes a screenshot and saves it for when the nights are particularly long and lonely.

The next couple of months Isak spends halfway delirious from lack of sleep. They’ve gotten in the habit of talking when Even is cooking up some dinner for himself, which with the increasingly later and later hours Even is working means Isak is up to about four am before Even has finished eating, and then he has to get up three hours later to get to class.

His grades don’t slip, but that’s also just about the only part of Isak’s life that doesn’t feel like it’s falling apart. It’s the one thing he’s stubbornly clung on to, almost seeing the row of 6’s as a validation, a confirmation that Even isn’t the only one who’s doing well, who’s working hard to live out his dream. Isak is going to get into university, get into the bio-science program, and he’s going to make Even be proud of him that he managed to do it.

But getting top-grades with basically no sleep is wearing him down. He falls asleep on Even all the time. One time when he’d been going on two days with practically no sleep and Even had run late, he’d missed the call entirely, absolutely _kicking_ himself for it the next day as frustrated tears had prickled in the corner of his eyes as he typed out an apology to Even.

Even replies with a blue heart and doesn’t mention it the next time the talk. He also doesn’t mention the dark circles underneath Isak’s eyes three days later when Isak feels himself slipping again, but this time he’s prepared and has set up alarms every fifteen minutes so if he does fall asleep, he won’t stay asleep.

He just needs to survive until Christmas, Isak constantly reminds himself when everything feels particularly horrible. Christmas, and then Even is coming home for a short break. He’ll see Even for Christmas. He’ll come _home_ for Christmas.

Isak spends Christmas alone in their apartment.

Maybe it’s because of the season, but everything in it looks particularly grey and dreary.

Even had booked the plane tickets, everything had been ready, and then for some reason the tickets had been cancelled. And then Even had booked again, and they’d not gone through. And again, despite _third time’s the charm_. No tickets. The price increases every time Even tries again and again until Isak is cursing out about holiday _extortion_ and considers buying a ticket himself to go see Even.

He’s just about to make the purchase when Even texts him that his parents showed up, apparently having bought tickets of their own and wanting to come surprise him, having _apparently_ arranged all of it with Even’s assistant.

Isak does not cry. He does not.

He spends a very sad evening eating way too much food and drinking way too many beers and steers far away from every soppy Christmas movie shown on TV, only watching the gory ones that he actually hates, but his options are rather lacking right now.

They talk for an hour in the middle of the night for Even, early morning for Isak; Even apologetic and Isak trying not to take his hurt out on him. Even loves his parents and it’s no one’s fault but Isak and Even’s own that they can’t say _screw it_ and have Isak meet Even’s parents. They don’t even entertain the idea, that’s how bad it is.

Once the holidays are over and the stores open again, Isak heads into town and buys a calendar - a _calendar_ – and a red sharpie, and then he starts to count down the days until Even is _done_ and _home_ for _good_. One red X at the start of each day. He can _do_ this.

Except then school begins again, and suddenly it seems as if his teachers have remembered that they’re in their third year, that they’re graduating in a couple of months, and so the workload increases exponentially until Isak could _cry_ from the mix of exhaustion and fucking _missing his husband_.

He misses another call. Even cancels a call because he’s going out to dinner with a group of people. Isak misses another call and doesn’t wake up to a sweet message from Even, reminding him that he loves him.

He phones Even four times on Even’s birthday before he picks up, the background so noisy Isak can barely pick out anything Even says. _The crew is throwing me a party, I’ll call you back later!_

No _I love you_ , which makes sense if Even is surrounded by the people he now spends every day with. But there’s also no call later. Come morning, Isak shakily crosses out another day on the calendar and wills himself not to cry.

It’s a good thing, he tries to remind himself. It gets harder and harder to do every single day, but at the bottom of Isak’s heart nothing has changed. He’s proud of Even, he _wants_ this for Even, he just doesn’t want _this_. He doesn’t want to be left behind.

He doesn’t go to see Eskild.

He probably should – he’s isolating himself and it’s not healthy. He’s hours away from spiraling, from falling too deeply down the black hole. Going to see Eskild would definitely help, but Eskild would _know_ something is wrong – he’d take one look at Isak, if that, and the cards would be spilt on the table. Isak can’t take that chance, so he stays at home, spirals and tries to fucking _breathe_.

At the end of March, Isak applies to university. He forgets to tell Even about it.

Or, he doesn’t _forget_ , it’s just –

They’ve gone from talking every single day to every once in a while, and Isak is working hard not to be resentful, to keep being so proud of Even at the front of his heart and his mind over everything else. So the next time they talk, Isak vows to tell Even all about how he finally settled on bio-science, all about the first term courses that he’s looking forward to, _everything_.

When Even picks up, there are worry lines etched into his face and a frown on his lips that seems foreign to Isak but perfectly fitting with the image of the worried man that Isak is faced with.

Shooting finished two days ago, Even should not be looking this stressed, Isak notes.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, doesn’t let them stray to the calendar and the five days left to cross out.

Or, twenty-five days left, as Isak finds out, because a _problem_ has come up. Something about the editing and the framing that the studio isn’t happy with, which – who cares what _they_ think? It’s _Even’s_ movie, and Isak _knows_ how meticulous Even is about every single detail which is what makes his movies so goddamn _perfect_.

Turns out a lot more people care about what the studio thinks than they care about what Even thinks.

Twenty-five days. Isak wants to tear the stupid calendar apart with his bare hands. Wants to shout. Wants to _cry_.

He does not cry. He _doesn’t_.

Fifteen days pass. The fifteenth of April passes without Isak noticing it until it’s the seventeenth and he realizes he still hasn’t told Even about his application.

It’s whatever, he figures. It’s not like he’s scared he won’t get in – he’s got the grades and he’s got the right course combination and he’s got the brains. He doesn’t need to put any more on Even’s plate than there already is. He’ll just tell him in eight days when Even comes _home_.

Eight days. Then fourteen days. Then another fourteen days. The problems going from the editing to framing choices to choices in general. More and more problems with each day that passes. Another week added on top of those extra fourteen days.

Promo starts despite there not being an actual movie that the stupid studio wants to show. It’s not a lot – not exactly the big conferences and rows upon rows of interviews – most of it is on various social media platforms, but it’s gaining a following, slowly but surely.

More weeks. Promo finishes.

Isak is russ by now, but he doesn’t get to show off the red pants with his name on them to Even, doesn’t go out partying because he isn’t on a bus, doesn’t really have any friends. He crashes house parties every once in a while, but they’re not particularly fun.

Still beats spending every night alone in his and Even’s empty apartment. It’s still better than going days upon days not speaking to Even.

There’s a due date, a premier date. Isak steadily makes little red x’s and thinks _after that day Even will come home_.

The premier date is pushed back.

Even is _panicking_ , and Isak understands _why_ , but he doesn’t understand the actual technicalities of the problem, and Even is, as said, panicking too much to explain it to him properly.

Isak had always thought that movies just got made and then shown in the cinema, but apparently that isn’t the case, or at least it isn’t with non-full length feature films, which is what Even has made.

He doesn’t understand the severity of the problem until he hears five rapid knocks on his front door.

The thing is, Even’s movie was supposed to be in theaters nearly a month ago by now, but it isn’t. There’s absolutely nothing, and Even doesn’t know what’s going on so Isak doesn’t know what’s going on.

And that’s when he gets the knock on his door.

They come in a series of raps. Later, Isak thinks they should’ve been heavier, more of a pounding – that would’ve fitted better.

Isak is wearing an old hoodie of Even’s – the one he’d painted the drawstrings of a few years back by now. He’s worn it so much he can’t scent Even on it anymore, the colors starting to fade from repeated washes and general wear and tear.

He considers taking it off, shoving it under the bed, but then he forces himself not to. There’s no reason to think that anyone showing up on his doorstep would suspect him of wearing another guy’s, of wearing _Even’s_ hoodie.

He quells down the anxiety, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

Three well-dressed men in suits and ties and identically slicked-back hair are standing on Isak’s doorstep. They’re each holding their own briefcase. All three look very much like they do not want to be here right now, like they clearly have way more important things to do than apparently seek out _Isak_.

Isak blinks.

“Isak Valtersen?” the guy in the front asks in English. He says it wrong, though – pronounces it _Isaac_ _Walltersen_ , and then he just stands still until Isak replies to him.

“Yes?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. He also didn’t mean to sound as hoarse and quiet as he does.

The man grins brightly at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and he doesn’t reach out his hand to shake Isak’s.

“My name’s Harley Walliams, these are my associates, David O’Leary and Pete Simonson. Do you know who we are?”

Isak knows who they are. _Harley Walliams_ was the one who’d overlooked every single signature Even had had to give the studio’s management team. They’re lawyers. Even had raved about them when he’d found out the studio had assigned them to him, had told Isak all about how the clients they took care of were always the one to get the furthest in their careers.

Isak feels very cold all of a sudden, not entirely sure why.

“Yeah,” he repeats, voice still hoarse and small and really not like Isak at all. “I – what –“

“Do you mind if we come in?” Harley interrupts, the hand not holding the briefcase on the door before Isak has had the time to even register the words. He’s not sure if it looks like Harley Walliams expects to be let in and figuratively put a foot inside the door, or if he expects to be asked to leave and is ensuring Isak can’t shut the door on him.

Isak lets go of the iron grip he has on the door handle, takes a couple steps backwards. His back hits the wall before long. He flushes a bit at the thought of having three hot-shot lawyers inside his very, very tiny shoebox of a home he shared with Even.

It’s his home and it’s his home with _Even_ – he isn’t ashamed of it, he fucking _loves it_ , even if it’s grown to be a hellhole constantly reminding Isak that _Even isn’t here_ rather than the oasis they’d built for themselves. But he’s not embarrassed. He _isn’t_.

“Charming,” David comments once they’re inside the only actual room in the apartment. Isak’s cheeks burn hotter despite David’s perfectly passive expression and tone, Isak can _tell_ he’s the furthest thing from sincere.

Isak lets his eyes skim over the room to check the state of it – he hadn’t expected any company, not _ever_ , but it’s not too bad. No dirty underwear and no dirty dishes lying around. Just general disarray.

“Oh,” his eyes land on the improvised dining table and the two chairs from the flea market. The _only_ chairs that he and Even own. “The chairs, I can – I –“

God, he can’t run down to the basement and get some fold-out chairs, can he? He doesn’t really want to leave them alone in his home, but he can’t exactly expect them to stand.

“Don’t worry about it!” Harley laughs, clapping Isak on the shoulder, making it feel as if Isak’s knees are about to buckle. “One for you and one for me, we don’t need anything else.”

“Oh.” Isak stumbles when Harley tries to get him closer to the table. The bed’s fairly close, there being so limited an amount of space, maybe he could…

Harley grabs a hold of the chair, pulling it out and maneuvers Isak to sit down, then takes his own seat opposite of Isak.

“There we go!” He grins again, doesn’t meet Isak’s eyes, too busy fiddling with the briefcase and then fiddling with a wad of papers that he turns so they’re wrong side up. “We’re all set up, then.”

Isak blinks. Set up for… _what_ , exactly?

“Mr. Valtersen,” _Walltersen_ , Harley begins, still smiling brightly, “ – may I call you Isak?” _Isaac_.

Isak doesn’t correct him. “Sure.”

“Isak,” Harley blinks at Isak like they’re in an amicable agreement with each other. “First of all, I’d like to apologize for intruding – this must seem very sudden for you, but we’re afraid it’s necessary.”

Isak’s heartbeat picks up. _It’s necessary_ , what does _that_ mean?

“What is this about?”

Harley doesn’t meet his eyes, instead he starts fiddling with the papers again, restacking them until all the edges are aligned perfectly. Isak can’t sit still, his foot taps against the floor.

“We have some…” he chews over his words for a few very long seconds, “ _concerns_ for our client.”

 _For Even_ , Isak wants to tell him. They’re talking about a human being, about _Even_. ‘ _Client_ ’ is dehumanizing.

He doesn’t correct him. Doesn’t do much of anything as his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth and his heart is pounding, because _concerns for Even_ does _not_ sound good. It sounds very, _very_ bad.

It had been a few days since Isak last talked to Even, but it’s been like that for a while and Even had seemed fine the last time Isak _had_ talked to him. Surely – surely someone would’ve called him if something had happened. A few select people of Even’s team know about him, _one_ of them would’ve called Even’s _husband_ if something had happened, if something was wrong, _right_?

A million thoughts and scenarios fly through Isak’s head as he tries to figure out just _what_ could’ve gone wrong, but none of it seems _likely_.

It had been part of the contract that Even had to keep up with his medication, had to present proof that he was doing so, Isak _knows_ that, but that doesn’t stop him from nearly leaping up to find Even’s prescriptions, to call Even and tell him to tell them, to call Even’s _psychiatrist_ and have _her_ tell them – he knows Even is doing alright, there haven’t been any signs whatsoever that he’s slipping! Isak hasn’t spoken to him for more than a couple of days by now, but there hadn’t been any reason to suspect Even of being on the cusp of an episode when he _had_ last spoken to him.

Isak knows Even has transferred everything when he moved to America – _temporarily_ , Isak angrily reminds himself to add – to ensure he had access to any help he’d need and so he could get the medication he needed. Isak also knows Even’s team must have access to all of that information, so why –

“Has something happened?” flies out of Isak’s mouth, making Harley give him a rather unimpressed look that Isak can’t even feel embarrassed over, not over the thought of _something having happened_.

“Even is fine, Isak,” Harley replies smoothly, mispronouncing Even’s name as well. _Evan’s fine, Isaac_.

Isak can’t even feel annoyed about it. His breath comes out long and shakily, so fucking relieved. _Even is fine_. It’s not said in a right way, not in a humane way, but Isak doubts Harley personally interacts with Even, that he’s gotten a chance to get attached the way everyone around Even does. Plus, this is a professional meeting, even if Isak hadn’t been aware that it was happening. He doubts Harley would lie to him about this.

David shuffles his weight around, Isak sees the movement out of the corner of his eye. Back and forth, back and forth, Isak almost wants to offer his chair up just to get him to _stop_ , but he wants _answers_ and _explanations_ more.

He shakes his head, tries to focus on Harley instead of everything else. “Then, what –“

Pete’s moved over to the dresser, looking at one of Even’s old cameras that cost a fortune and only good for taking vintage, pompous pictures. Isak wants him to stop looking at it, but the words don’t come out of his mouth, he doesn’t know how to make them. It’s obvious the camera isn’t Isak’s, but Isak has never figured out how to talk about Even with _anyone_ , it doesn’t matter that these three men already know about him and Even, Isak literally doesn’t have the words.

“We’re here to talk about your… affiliation with our client.”

Isak’s focus hones in on Harley. His hands are clammy, but his foot finally stills underneath the table. It’s nearly impossible to swallow past the lump that has formed in his throat in no time.

“I thought any issues about that was taken care of,” Isak bites, thinking about the thousands of signatures both of them had had to sign for the management team and then the PR team and then the team of lawyers and probably more teams that Isak has just forgotten about. “That I am just a part of Even’s private life. He’s _allowed_ to have a private life.”

The English words don’t feel foreign on his tongue, but compared to the three Americans in his home it sounds broken and like his tongue is too big for his mouth.

Harley frowns. He’s stopped fiddling with the papers by now, but the stillness to him just seems unnatural.

“Naturally,” he acquiesces albeit reluctantly. Isak’s foot starts tapping again. “Which is why we haven’t interfered until it became necessary.”

Isak _stills_.

Cold sweat runs down his back. He doesn’t know what facial expression he’s making, but Harley keeps his perfectly neutral in response.

“He hasn’t told you?” _No, Even hasn’t spoken to him in_ days. “That’s – we’d honestly hoped he would’ve told you himself by now.”

 _By now_. How long – what is going on? Why can’t _Harley Walliams_ just _tell him_ instead of stringing Isak along on a merry-go-round?

Harley does not reply. Instead, he picks up the papers, separates them into two stacks and lays out one in front of Isak, right side up this time so he can read what it says.

What it says makes Isak’s heart stop.

“We’ve had our legal-division here in Norway translate it, if it’s easier for you,” Harley hands over the second stack of papers. Isak doesn’t reach out to hold it so Harley just places it on the table in front of Isak instead.

It doesn’t matter if he sees _divorce_ or _skilsmisse_ , the _language_ isn’t the fucking problem.

“What the fuck is this?” Isak’s hands are shaking, his breathing is too quick. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

“Now, Isak,” _Isaac_ , Harley says calmly. What right does he have to sound so calm when Isak is looking at _divorce papers_ sent to _him_ by _Even_. “Just take a moment to calm down –“

“I don’t need a moment to calm down,” Isak snaps harshly. _Fuck_ , it hurts to breathe. “I _need_ a goddamn explanation. This – this doesn’t make sense, this –“

He struggles to get air down to his lungs, to push it back out again. All he can see is either _divorce_ or _skilsmisse_ or _Harley Walliams_.

Harley clears his throat, slowly and pointedly. Isak wants to _flip_ the table.

“It’s become clear that your… relation to our client has become a hindrance to any attempt to further Mr. Næsheim’s career.”

 _Our marriage_ , Isak wants to shout. _His marriage_ to _Even_ , Harley Walliams is a _coward_ who can’t even say the _words_.

At the same time it feels like he’s just been slapped across the face, the sting of it bright and embarrassing and Isak’s cheeks feel unnaturally hot from misplaced shame, because now he knows why these men are here.

They’re here, not because Even is married, they don’t care about that. They’re here because Even is married to _him_ , is married to a _guy_.

“That’s illegal,” is the first thing that flies out of his mouth. He doesn’t know where his head is at – he feels like a hypocrite, lecturing these men about _pride_ and _rights_ when _Isak and Even_ have been a secret for literal years.

Pete quirks an eyebrow. “Getting divorced?”

Isak scowls at him. “Refusing Even work because of… _that_. That’s discrimination.”

 _Fuck_ , he can’t even say the word out loud. He’s being presented with _divorce papers_ and he _still_ can’t say the actual fucking words.

Harley looks exasperated. “I don’t know what it’s like over here in _Norway_ ,” he sighs, saying it like he’s out in the middle of nowhere, on a field where there’s no other company than cows instead of in central Oslo, “but over in _America_ you don’t want to make any enemies over such an inconsequential detail as being gay is –“

Isak feels _sick_. “He isn’t gay,” he argues under his breath. “He’s pan.”

He doesn’t even know why he says it, lawyer-guy looks like that holds absolutely zero meaning to him, plus he looks more annoyed at having been interrupted.

“ _Point is_ ,” he snaps, “no one’s going to show a gay director’s movie.”

 _He isn’t gay_ , Isak repeats in his head, but that isn’t the part that matters. It doesn’t matter if Even only likes guys or likes both guys and girls or likes anyone or no one. What matters is that he’s married to a guy, married to _Isak_ , and that’s what’s going to stop him.

“The studio can’t sell him. They can’t get a licensing agreement with any of the distribution companies. No one wants his movie.”

It sounds miles away from Isak, like he’s only hearing an echo, like there isn’t a lawyer or a manager or whatever it is he’s supposed to be right in front of him, staring at him in disinterest as he tells him that Even has a choice, and he hasn’t picked Isak.

“I need –“ Isak chokes, slides his chair back despite how dizzy he feels. “I should – I’m gonna call him. I just –“

“Isak,” Harley reaches out and grabs onto Isak’s wrist before he can stand up fully. He keeps mispronouncing his name, pronounces it like he’s American. _Isaac_. It throws Isak off balance more than he already is. “He’s already made his choice.”

It sounds so final. It _is_ final, but none of it is making sense in Isak’s head.

Why would Even just send three guys to tell him? Why couldn’t he just pick up the phone, explain what’s going on? Why couldn’t he just fucking _tell him_ that he is filing for a _divorce_?

Oh god. Isak is about to be divorced. _Divorced_. He isn’t going to be married, isn’t going to be married to _Even_ , and Isak doesn’t know how to live a life like that, never thought he’d have to.

He really, _really_ wants to pick up his phone and just _call Even_ , just to _talk_ to him, like he always wants to when something’s wrong, when something is _right_ , even if that isn’t the case right now, but –

But now he’s being told he’s the only one who feels like that, who feels the comfort and the want and the need for his, for his –

Even isn’t going to be his husband anymore. Even is going to be his _ex_. Isak is being divorced. Separated, whatever.

Suddenly, it doesn’t seem as imperative that they hadn’t told anyone when they were friends, when they were something more, when they were actual boyfriends, when they were engaged, when they _got married_. All that seems to matter now is that Even wants to write all of those moments off, and Isak is being left behind in the dust.

“There’s something else,” Harley says.

Isak’s eyes snap up to look at him. _More_? What more could there possibly be?

Pete brings out a smaller wad of papers from his briefcase. These papers aren’t from Even. Even wouldn’t even have thought of giving Isak a fucking _non-disclosure agreement_.

Harley holds out an ink pen that had probably cost more than Isak’s monthly rent does. “We’re going to need you to keep quiet about everything.”

OOOOO

Isak can’t sit still once they’ve left.

He’d spent close to half an hour in despondent silence, completely unresponsive. Harley had kept talking, then Pete and David had tried, but all Isak had been able to do was stare at the papers.

 _Divorce, divorce, divorce_.

He’s not married anymore. Isak isn’t married anymore. He isn’t married to Even, because Even had found out that you couldn’t be a successful director in America and have a husband waiting for you at home, so he had cut off the husband.

For how long had Even known? How many conversations have they had where Even had already made up his mind, where Isak had wasted time crossing out dates to count down for when Even was coming home, when Even was in fact never coming home again.

Isak paces back and forth again. He feels trapped, like he’s stuck in a cage that’s been decorated to appear as a home.

He picks up his phone. He should call Even, he should demand to hear _Even_ explain himself, not three lawyers explain it for him.

Isak throws the phone onto the bed instead.

He cards his fingers through his hair, then does it again, and again, harder and harder until his scalp is hurting and his eyes are watering and, _fuck_ , _divorce_. He crumbles onto the floor, pressing his eyes against his knees and holding onto his hair tighter and tighter.

Isak feels – he feels young. And he feels stupid. And he feels utterly heartbroken.

It hasn’t been more than a quarter of a day when Isak’s phone buzzes.

Isak blinks slowly, his eyelashes scratching weirdly against the floor. He’ll probably have a mark on his face from how long he’s been lying there.

It takes ages to pick himself up off the floor, to sit up, and then it takes just as long to just stare at his phone, lying innocently wrong side up on top of the duvet. Isak’s hand shakes when he reaches out and grabs it, his fingers twitching as he unlocks it.

 _They’re showing my movie!_ the text says and Isak feels _sick_.

Alright, he already got the hint; Even wants the divorce so he can be a big movie director, _fine_ , but he doesn’t have to _shove it_ in Isak’s _face_. God, Isak feels _sick_ , he thinks he might actually throw up over a _text message_.

It takes another day for the phone calls to start ringing in.

Constantly, _constantly_ , his ring tone sounds, the stupid jingle Even had set up – some theme song from some movie Isak doesn’t want to think about, because he doesn’t want to be thinking about _Even_. Isak doesn’t get out of bed to answer the calls or turn the phone off.

His phone runs out of battery at the end of the day.

When he finally can’t stand lying in his own filth anymore and he isn’t currently crying, he gets up and plugs it in.

 _86 missed calls. 236 new messages_. All his storage has been filled up. One of those texts are from Eskild, just sending him a picture of himself pouting at the camera, text written on the picture saying _miss you xxx_ , and it’s _stupid_ that _that’s_ what makes Isak tear up again. Not the 235 messages from Even, but one dumb picture from Eskild.

He hates crying and he’s been doing nothing but for the past couple of _days_. He reeks and he has no energy and he _hates being here_ in his goddamn _home_ – his home with _Even_.

Even’s things are _everywhere_. There’s his stupid hoodie still slung over the back of the chair, and there are his movies, various knickknacks, all his drawings pinned up on the wall, a couple of old notebooks, his clothes, his favorite mug, and Isak wants to scream and tear it all apart. He wants to hurt Even as much as he’s hurting.

He storms into the kitchen to smash that stupid cup to bits and pieces. Flings the cupboard door open to tear it out of its place and into millions of unfixable pieces.

He crumbles onto the floor before he can do any of that. He’s clutching on to the mug desperately, the sobs wrack through his body, the sounds coming out of his mouth ugly and so loud he doesn’t hear the phone start ringing again.

OOOOO

The mature thing would be to call Even up, demand an explanation, actually _talk_ things through.

It’s the mature thing to do. It’s the _rational_ thing to do.

But Isak both feels so incredibly young and small right now and he’s the _furthest_ thing from rational.

He just – he doesn’t want to actually hear the words coming out of Even’s mouth. Doesn’t want to hear him admit directing and writing just being _more important_ to him than Isak has ever been, could ever be.

And, like, it’s – it’s not _okay_ , none of this is okay, but that’s the exact reason why Isak let him go to begin with. Why he was okay and why he _encouraged_ Even to go to America, to just _go_ for it, try it out. He’d _wanted_ it for Even, still does, somewhere deep, deep, deep inside where the hurt and pain hasn’t fully torn him apart just yet.

It’s not far off, though. Isak feels how the bitterness threatens to swallow him up.

He didn’t know Even going off to follow his dream meant leaving Isak behind. That had never been what it was about – at least, it _hadn’t_ been what it was about to _Isak_. Right now, Isak has no idea what Even _ever_ thought the plan or the point was. He doesn’t know which version is better, easier to believe in for his rapidly crumbling mental health; that Even had been aware already before he left Norway that leaving Isak could very quickly turn from a temporary to a permanent situation, or if it’s nicer to think that Even had always planned to come back to him at one point, and only when directly faced with the choice he hadn’t chosen Isak.

It’s both stupidly easy and stupidly hard to pack up all of Even’s things.

He does it mindlessly, which is the easy part. The hard part is to actually bear the thought that he’s getting rid of Even’s things.

He should be angry. He _is_ – he is so fucking angry he’s _furious_ and he’s _hurt_ , but if he stops to think about all of that again he’ll end up crying and Isak is so fucking sick of crying.

His body doesn’t allow him to go on, though, so that’s where he is now; sitting on their – _his_ bed, looking helplessly around in their – _his_ flat that looks like a tornado has swept through it.

Everything is in disarray and there are boxes on every available flat surface area, most only packed halfway. Isak is sitting with Even’s hoodie in his hands, twisting the drawstrings around his fingers, around and around and around until he feels dizzy and hollow with it.

God, this wasn’t what he’d thought his life would be.

He’s already sent in his applications for university weeks before everything went to shit. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go there when everything is so _shit_ , doesn’t know how to focus enough to take his exams, to _pass_ his exams, to show up at school, to show up to a university where he doesn’t know anyone and no one knows him and –

The hoodie is soft in his hands and he can’t bring himself to get rid of Even’s things, he _can’t_ , but he can’t stand to look at them either and he can’t stand not being _able_ to look at them.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_ , he doesn’t know what to do.

OOOOO

Confusion comes first.

It’s there when Isak is being told Even has sent a team of lawyers and managers to tell him they’re getting a divorce. When he apparently couldn’t bring himself to tell Isak himself.

Isak knows it was there when he kept repeating to said lawyers that Even isn’t _gay_ , because he _isn’t_ , but he kept saying it like _that_ was the important part – not the _divorce_ part.

And it’s there when Isak wonders what the _fuck_ went wrong, what did he _do_ , why does Even _want_ this? He can’t figure it out – absolutely none of it, because none of it makes _sense_ , and Isak is just so _fucking confused_.

He thought they were alright, he thought they were making it, he thought they were strong enough to wait for Isak to finish up school, graduate, and then he come travel around with Even wherever he wanted to go to film and it would be _brilliant_.

He thought they were in love. And he’s so confused, because he really thought he _knew_ Even, and he’s so certain he would’ve picked up on it along the way the moment it turned from Isak and Even loving each other to only Isak being in love.

Confusion is awful, and it leaves Isak dizzy and with a headache and feeling vaguely ill. He wants to call someone, wants to call Eskild, because Eskild always helps, but Eskild doesn’t _know_ about Even, about _Isak_ , _no one_ knows and now –

It takes a while for the confusion to turn into denial.

It’s easy to tell it’s denial, because all Isak does is stare at the papers with big, bold, black letters at the top spelling out _d-i-v-o-r-c-e_ , and all he can think is _that doesn’t make sense_. Those papers aren’t for him, they’re for someone else, their neighbors, the one’s next door who are always fighting. They’re meant for people whose love turned so ugly and violent there was absolutely no way back – the antithesis to him and Even.

It’s all centered around _we’re in love_ , like that’ll fix everything, like it’s both the problem and the solution, because they’re in _fucking love_.

Isak paces back and forth, going along the small stretch by the foot of their bed before he hits the chairs at the table and the dresser at the other end, back and forth, back and forth. Stops and stares at the papers for a few beats too long, and then starts pacing again until he gets so dizzy he has to lay down.

He should just call Even. It’s what makes _sense_ – the _only_ thing out of all of this that makes fucking sense. Isak doesn’t know why he doesn’t just _pick up the goddamn phone_ and _call Even_. If he wants this divorce so fucking badly, he can damn well tell him _himself_.

It doesn’t take long for denial to turn to _anger_.

Confusion made Isak feel off-kilter and sick. Denial made him feel like he was going out of his mind, like he was living in a parallel universe where the curtains are non-existent because there are shutters put up instead, like this isn’t _his_ life.

Anger is ugly. Probably one of the ugliest feelings Isak has ever felt.

It curls up in his stomach and chest like a beast, grumbling to be let out. Isak feels it looming, feels it growing until it finally bursts out.

Denial had made him want to call Even and demand an explanation, demand being told that this entire thing is just a prank, that it’s for a film, that he’s still in love with him, _whatever_ , Isak will accept _whatever reason_ Even gives him.

Anger is different. Anger makes him want to _hurt_ Even, makes him want to never see him again, makes him want for Even to _suffer_.

It makes him wish that he never met Even to begin with, that he never moved out of the kollektiv, that they never got married, that they never fell in love in the first place, that Even never showed him all he could have, all he ever wanted and dreamt of, and then ripped it away again within the same breath.

It’s there when he stares at his phone, stares at the text message that so clearly shows Even’s enthusiasm at his film being shown just because Isak signed a couple papers and effectively ended their _marriage_. Isak stares at the exclamation marks, feels his heartbeat pick up and sees how his hands start to shake, how he squeezes around the phone too hard, how he can barely _breathe_ , how he’s seeing _red_.

And all the anger, the hurt, _everything_ , that had been bubbling away inside of him boils over.

They’ve still got some moving boxes left over from when they moved in; tucked nicely away in the closet, unfolded and flat and serving as a barrier between the floor and their shoes. The top box is a little muddy from Isak’s trainers, but it’s long since dried up so it just flakes off when Isak accidentally touches it.

It just makes him feel even _more_ angry to see the dirt lying on the floor. _Stupid, fuck, shit, fucking shit_.

It shouldn’t be this easy to pack another person’s life into three boxes, shouldn’t be so easy to pick apart Even’s belongings from Isak’s, but it _is_. Isak tears through their flat like a tornado, a goddamn whirlwind that doesn’t care about the destruction it leaves behind.

He packs away some of the camera equipment Even left behind first, isn’t one bit careful with it because he doesn’t _care_ if it cracks, to _hell_ with that. Even is off to be a big movie director, he can goddamn well afford to replace whatever shitty second-hand _shit_ he’d gotten his hands on back when movies had shared a first place in his priorities. Isak can probably just blame it on however that ends up shipping it across the globe to him, say he forgot the _fragile_ sticker and leave it at that.

Then he grabs whatever else of knick-knacks Even had left behind. Movies, drawing utensils, books. They all make satisfying _thumps_ and crashes when Isak throws them together; metal scraping against metal and possibly one or two pencils and brushes snapping in half. Isak feels vindictive and vindicated all in one.

They don’t have any photographs of the two of them around, didn’t dare to, just in case, so Isak makes a mental note to delete them off of his phone instead, every single last one of them. Or maybe print some of them out first so he can burn them.

He ends with the clothes, because throwing clothes around is never satisfying, and Isak had hoped he would’ve burned through at least some of the anger by now, but he hasn’t, he really, really _hasn’t_.

Seeing Even’s clothes probably makes it _worse_.

It’s difficult to tell what is Even’s and what is Isak’s; all of it so intertwined and interchangeable Isak wants to tear it all apart instead of sorting through it. He keeps the _Jesus_ -shirt, because it’s originally _Eskild’s_ , and Eskild is _Isak’s_ so _Even_ sure as hell isn’t getting it.

But the clothes are also the worst thing to get rid of, because they’ve been sealed up in the closet or the dresser for _months_ by now. They’ve mixed with Isak’s scent, with the scent of their laundry detergent, sure, but they still smell so much like _Even_ it actually brings Isak to his knees and makes him struggle to breathe.

That feeling doesn’t go away. Even when he manages to get up onto his knees, then his feet, then onto the bed, Isak still feels it.

It’s like there’s something in his chest, weighing him down; his heart, his lungs, _everything_ – nothing is left alone, and Isak feels _heavy_ with it.

It’s – _god_ , everything is so _fucked up_ , and now that Isak has paused in his frenzy it’s so fucking obvious Isak kind of wants to laugh.

He ends up crying instead. Crying and unable to breathe and looking utterly pathetic, buried between mountains of clothes strewn all over the place, like the closet actually exploded all over him, clutching what had always been his favorite of Even’s hoodies.

It’s soft and worn through and it smells so much like Even that Isak physically can’t let go of it. He can’t. His fingers won’t cooperate, and when he tries to throw it his arms refuse to work.

OOOOO

Isak picks up the phone when the unanswered calls list is closer to quadruple digits than triple.

“ _Just pick up – Isak!_ ” Even breathes when he realizes Isak actually picked up. “ _Isak, thank god, don’t hang up, please_ – “

He hadn’t expected hearing Even’s voice to hurt as much as it does. It _hurts_.

He wants to demand an explanation, demand an apology, wants to be assertive and confident and not let Even know just how fucked up he is right now. He wants to shout and be mean and make Even feel bad, and at the same time he desperately wants for Even to say it’s been a bad prank, that he’s awful and he’s sorry and of course he’s not leaving Isak.

Suddenly, Isak does not want an explanation. He doesn’t want to hear a single word from Even.

“Have your team send out your stuff to you,” he says instead of all that. He’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake.

“ _Isak, I – what_?”

Isak squeezes his eyes shut. “And figure out what you want to do with –“ _our home_ “– the apartment. It’s your name on the lease, so you need to be the one to put it up for sale, if that’s what you want to do.”

“ _If that’s what I – Isak, for god’s sake, just stop_!”

‘Just stop’? ‘ _Just stop_ ’? _Isak_ is the one who _wants_ it to stop, what the hell is _Even_ telling _him_ to stop for?

He just wants everything to be over.

He doesn’t look over at the two boxes filled with Even’s things that Isak couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing again. The stupid, _stupid_ hoodie is lying at the bottom of one of them.

“I’ll leave my key underneath the doormat for them. If some of your shit is missing it’s because I’ve gotten rid of it.”

“ _Isak_ –“

Isak hangs up, shuts off his phone and throws it onto the bed. Then he spends the next day, curled up, unmoving and unresponsive.

OOOOO

He doesn’t know what to do.

He can’t just show up at the kollektiv with all of his shit, there isn’t any room for him and he doesn’t know how to explain any of it. He can’t stay in their basement either, not with how close Eskild had been to getting in a lot of trouble with the landlord.

For the first time in so long, Isak doesn’t have a _home_ to come back to. He’s on his own and he doesn’t know what to do, where to go.

He figures it out by accident.

It’s a complete coincidence that he gets the email when he goes to charge his phone, the notification popping up at the same time as the screen lights up to tell Isak it’s charging.

The answer to some – one – of Isak’s problems comes in the form of student housing, because Isak has been accepted to UiO. He got in.

He doesn’t stick around long enough to find out who Even sends to take care of the apartment or how he even plans on doing it. He just leaves his key underneath the doormat like he’d told Even he would, walks down all four flights of stairs and doesn’t turn around or look back.

He’s got enough stuff to warrant two trips back and forth his and Even’s – the old apartment and the new flat he’ll share with eight other people, but Isak knows that if he has to go back, he’ll never actually leave, he’ll just be stuck there until Even’s people throw him out. He can’t let that happen, can’t let anyone see him like that, can’t have them reporting back to Even, _you broke your husband_.

 _Ex-husband_ , Isak reminds himself. _Ex_. He broke his _ex_ -husband, because that part is true enough. Isak can’t remember ever feeling this torn apart ever before.

So he fits everything he owns into a suitcase, two backpacks and two boxes of Even’s stuff that he _can’t_ bring himself to let go off, and he wrangles all of it onto the tram halfway across Oslo. The further the better, he thinks bitterly.

He stops on the way there to buy a bottle of something, _anything_ – whiskey, he thinks it is he ends up with. He doesn’t check, just goes for the cheapest there is with the highest alcohol percentage, grabs it, hands over the money and leaves.

He just wants to forget. He wants to not feel broken.

Somewhere underneath all of the _hurt_ and the _anger_ , there’s a small part of Isak that’s happy for Even. Despite how much he tries to crush it down, suppress it, tear it apart, it doesn’t go away. He can’t stand thinking the thought already, not already it’s too close, but he knows it’s because he’s still so terribly, _horribly_ in love with Even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/623602319635939328/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's past was for some reason thought out to "Without You" by Avicii from all the way in the beginning, but when I finally got around to writing it, I complete forgot about it. That's what happens when you work on the same project for two years xD
> 
> Anyway, cue more hugs, more angst, and Isak starting university!

**_ Present _ **

Isak wakes up facing Even.

It’s stupidly early, his sleep schedule too messed up from Even’s irregular hours of when he’s awake or not. Right now, Even is still asleep, which means Isak is met with the sight of lips slightly parted, soft sounds with each breath escaping his mouth, face completely relaxed for the first time since he showed up at the front door.

Even is still just as beautiful as he’s always been, as he was the last time Isak shared a bed with him.

And it fucking _hurts_.

Isak’s heart hurts, _all_ of him hurts. He’s so tired, and it just makes it worse that he hasn’t felt this refreshed in years from a night’s worth of good sleep just because he got to sleep next to Even.

Sleeping next to Even isn’t something he gets to have, not anymore. This was a onetime thing, never to be done again. A couple more days and Even won’t even be around anymore, he’ll have to go and face the music and so will Isak – in a different way, yes, but he can’t keep hiding away in this apartment.

Neither of them can keep hiding.

Isak looks at Even. His heart hurts looking at him, but he can’t look away. And he can’t stand to keep looking, because it _hurts_.

For all the times that he and Even had talked about infinity, this right here, Even being _here_ is very much finite. Isak doesn’t get to have this anymore, doesn’t get to wake up to Even in the morning, doesn’t get to _kiss_ him, doesn’t get _Even_.

Isak will end up doing something stupid if he stays here underneath the covers, looking at Even. He doesn’t know what, but he can feel whatever it is, he’ll regret it, so he forces his body into moving, forces himself to _get up_ and _get out_.

The air feels icy compared to the warmth of the bed, but Isak knows it’s his head playing tricks on him, so he doesn’t flinch when his bare feet touch the floor or when he shivers or when he just wants to fucking _stop_. He gets up and walks to the door, and he closes it softly behind him to not wake up anyone else.

He doesn’t breathe until the door slots in place and Isak is left all by himself in the empty hallway of his apartment.

Isak is used to being alone – bar the couple of years where his ‘ _alone-time_ ’ had been spent with Even, the fifteen years before Even and the two years after Isak has spent the majority of time by himself.

Isak by himself isn’t always the best.

It had been easy when he hadn’t had any friends, when the only people consistently around him were his parents, and even they weren’t all that consistent, but once he’d gotten past Even and past the months of complete self-destruction and recklessness and complete disregard of his own being and Isak had gotten his head out of his ass and recognized the good thing that was Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus for what it was, the self-isolating tendencies had been less of a choice and more of a necessity out of fear.

Slipping up is easy to do, and it only takes one mistake before you’re fucked, and so Isak had tried to make friends, but he’d been all too aware of how for every time he was hanging out with any of the boys, he was hiding himself away and only showing the parts he thought he’d be accepted for having.

And the times he was alone was spent _hating_ himself – for hiding at all, but also having something to hide for.

Isak shuffles into the kitchen, eyes on his feet paying meticulous attention to each movement he makes, each step forward until the stinging in his eyes go away enough that he doesn’t think he’ll start to cry.

He feels dizzy. His body is still too shaken from being _so close_ to what he used to have, to what he _does not_ have anymore and _will not_ have. Telling himself that only makes it worse, though, makes him feel more _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , until Isak has to grab onto one of the kitchen chairs and sink down, holding his head in his hands.

 _Stop_ , he tells his body, his brain, any part of him that will hopefully listen. _Stop, stop, stop!_

It doesn’t stop. Isak forces himself to sit up straight, draw in a shaky breath and then let it out after holding it for a few seconds. It’s not as easy to do when he doesn’t have Magnus there to guide him through it, but Isak will be damned if he lets anyone see him like this right now, not again.

Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus had all been walking on eggshells around him for _days_ after the last time this had happened, but the last time it happened he’d had a reason for being so shaken up, having had all those reporters up in his face and shouting at him, hoping to get a story, something to _sell_.

How the hell is he supposed to tell them that this time he can’t fucking breathe because he’s a goddamn idiot who is in _fucking love_ with ex-husband? His ex-husband who will be _leaving_ him in a few days’ time?

 _God_ , Isak draws in another shaky breath, squeezes his eyes shut to keep from crying, then opens them again to prove to himself he’s stronger than that and lets out the air in his lungs calmly. A _fucking idiot_ , that’s what he is. So, so _stupid_.

“Morning,” Jonas interrupts his train of thought. Isak doesn’t even have the energy to be startled. “You’re up early. Everything alright?”

 _No_. “Yeah.”

Jonas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod to acknowledge he’s fallen for Isak’s lie. Just walks over to the counter and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Is Even up early as well?” Jonas prepares enough coffee for two cups. Isak must look particularly pathetic, he kicks himself.

“No, he’s still asleep.”

“Okay.”

Isak hears the coffee being poured into the machine, hears as it starts to grind it up, mix it with the hot water.

“I’ve got a lecture in forty minutes,” Jonas tells him, clanking with the silverware as he brings out two spoons.

“Okay.”

The spoon clinks against the side of the mug every time Jonas finishes half a circle.

“I, uh,” Jonas starts, tapping the other spoon against the counter as he waits for the coffee to finish. “I couldn’t help but notice that the couch hasn’t been slept on tonight.”

He finally twists around to look at Isak; Isak, who is looking up at him with wide eyes and who can’t keep his bottom lip from quivering and who seems to have forgotten how to breathe.

“Oh, Isak.”

“It wasn’t,” Isak’s voice shakes, all of him is shaking. Is he crying? He can’t tell. “It wasn’t like that, we didn’t – it wasn’t –“ his voice cracks, any other words he might’ve had breaking off and going unsaid.

“Fuck, come here,” Jonas grabs onto Isak’s shoulder before Isak can even move, pulling him up and close and Isak clutches at Jonas wherever he can grab and hold on.

He smothers his face into Jonas’ shoulder, feels his curls tickle his cheek, feels the scratch of his sweater against the tip of his nose.

Actually getting air inside of his lungs isn’t any easier like this, but breathing doesn’t feel as difficult for some reason.

“You’re okay,” Jonas tells him, probably to be comforting, but Isak is probably the _furthest thing_ from okay right now, so a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of him.

Jonas grimaces. “Yeah, fuck, that – sorry.”

Isak shakes his head, the sweater scratching uncomfortably against his nose in the process, but he doesn’t trust his throat to actually produce any noise for a reply.

“This is nice, though,” Jonas rubs a hand across Isak’s upper back. “We should do this more. It’s probably good for you, isn’t it? Some chemicals in your brain, or some shit.”

Jonas knows perfectly well about the ‘ _cuddle hormone_ ’, Isak knows, because he’d watched him use it to flirt with Eva back during first year, so it’s just a ploy to get Isak to actually say something.

Isak is too nice, really, because he lets it work.

“Oh, yeah,” the words are muffled against Jonas’ shoulder, but he feels some tension seep out of Jonas at just Isak talking, “it’s very like us, after all.”

He says it as a joke, as a _ha ha_ that Jonas is supposed to laugh along with and that’ll be that, but Jonas doesn’t do that.

“It could be.” His voice is very small, Isak doubts he would’ve heard it were he not literally pressed up against him. “I keep thinking – shit, this is bad timing, sorry, forget about it.”

Jonas moves back to pull away, so Isak makes sure to cling on, dig his heels into the floor and not let Jonas move away.

“No, come on, what is it?”

Jonas hesitates, but he doesn’t try to move out of the hug anymore, is holding on to Isak again. This time breathing doesn’t come as easy as Isak had just learnt it could.

“I keep thinking that, like, what if we had done these things? Would it have changed anything? Would it have meant you wouldn’t have been so scared to tell us?”

Isak’s heart _hurts_ , his chest tightening and constricting his airways. He clutches on to Jonas tighter.

“Jonas, _no_ , it – it wasn’t like that –“

“But, like,” Jonas interrupts, “we _should’ve_ done more. Not just for you, but in general. We shouldn’t have made it feel like you had to keep secrets from us.”

“You didn’t –“ Isak tries halfheartedly, because it hadn’t been _all_ them that had kept Isak from saying anything, the boys had barely been a fraction of why Isak had never said anything.

“Just in general, then,” Jonas changes tactic. “Friends should make sure that no one should feel like they have to keep quiet about who they are to fit in.”

“But you didn’t know,” Isak reminds him. “I didn’t _want_ you to know. I didn’t give off any, like, _vibes_ or shit.” Or he’d at least tried very hard not to make anyone suspect anything.

“Even then, _especially_ then. Everyone should be aware that coming out or being themselves is _okay_ and not have to fear they’ll lose their friends over it. You’re my _best friend_ , you know that, right? And I _hate_ that I ever made you feel like that.”

Isak squeezes his eyes shut.

“I just –“ Jonas shakes his head. “Some of the shit we say, man. Just the way we talk and _what_ we talk about, you must’ve felt so left out.”

“It’s fine,” Isak protests. It’s not like it’s _awful_ to hear the guys talk about girls – boring, more than anything, the only bad part had been when he had had to pretend he cared and had an opinion of his own on the matter.

Jonas shakes his head again. Isak feels the movement of it. “It’s going to change. _We’re_ going to change. We’ll be better, man.”

Isak doesn’t know how to tell him that they’re already so fucking _good_ , the best fucking friends anyone could ever ask for, so he just squeezes Jonas harder. “Like what?” he tries to sound bright and cheerful.

“Like –“ Jonas searches for words for a second, and then, “He’s a handsome guy,” Jonas says like it’s nothing.

“What the fuck.” Isak doesn’t know if he’s laughing or if he’s about to cry. His chest feels weird and the noises bubbling out of him sound like a mix between the two.

“I’m just saying,“ Jonas laughs. “You could’ve done a lot worse.”

Oh, yeah, Isak doesn’t say. He could’ve gone for someone who _wouldn’t_ leave him behind halfway across the world because he got a better offer.

“I’m sorry it didn’t last,” Jonas says, almost like he can read Isak’s mind. “But you got to have someone who really loved you and who made you happy, even if it was just for a little while. How could he not have been in love with you?”

Isak snorts, but doesn’t say anything. _How could he leave like that if he had ever loved me, though_?

Jonas doesn’t let go of him until his breathing returns to normal.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t go back to his bedroom once Jonas has left for class. He can’t bring himself to do it, figures it won’t bring anything good, either, so he just stays in the kitchen and waits for the rest of the house to wake up.

Once Mahdi gets up, they make some breakfast together, just chatting about small, inane things. Mahdi doesn’t comment on it if he notices something being off with Isak, which Isak is eternally grateful for.

He doesn’t leave when he’s got his plate of toast ready, either – sits down opposite of Isak and doesn’t leave before Isak has finished his bowl of cereal, watching carefully to make sure that he eats.

Isak almost snorts at the thought of just how many times he’s done that with Even, and now Mahdi’s doing the exact same thing with him, but instead he just takes another spoonful of soggy cereal, turning to mush in his mouth as he eats. Mahdi nods satisfied, though, which makes Isak feel a bit less guilty about how painstakingly long it had taken to go through one barely half-full bowl.

“What’s this?” Magnus squawks when he gets up. “Squad breakfast? And _I_ wasn’t _invited_?”

“Jonas isn’t here, either,” Isak reminds him at the same time as Mahdi takes the opportunity to say, “Only the best of the squad was invited. Sorry, bro.”

Magnus huffs. “’ _Sorry, bro_ ’,” he imitates badly on purpose.

Mahdi laughs and claps Magnus on the shoulder as he walks past him. Isak gets up and puts his bowl in the sink when the silence between him and Magnus has lasted long enough to turn awkward.

“What are the plans for today?”

“Ugh,” Magnus groans. “I need to start studying. We’re supposed to do this big project on cinematography functioning as symbolism, and I just – “ Magnus, being Magnus, flings his body against the fridge, his cheek smudged against the front so his words come out distorted, “– haven’t got a _single_ clue where to start.”

Isak shrugs, because he’s an asshole and a science major, and because he loves to remind Magnus of just that.

Except Magnus doesn’t take the bait. He practically lights up and leans upright again. “Hey, do you think Even would mind helping me out? Like, his movies are _known_ for deploying all sorts of methods, maybe he could –“

Isak winces, squeezes his eyes shut and hopes Magnus doesn’t notice anything.

“…Isak?”

He notices.

“Maybe –“ Isak carefully chews over his next words, doesn’t do it to make sure he won’t start to cry. “Maybe don’t count on it. He’ll be leaving soon, anyway."

Magnus frowns. “Huh? Has he said something?”

Isak winces again. “I – no, he hasn’t said anything.”

Magnus’ frown deepens. “Then why do you think –“

“ _Magnus_ ,” Isak sighs, letting go of the plate by accident so it clangs against the bottom of the sink. He can’t tell if the clank or his tone is what makes Magnus pause. “Why would he stay?”

Magnus looks at Isak as if he’s an _idiot_ and it’s _obvious_ why Even would stick around. “Uh, hello? Have you met yourself? Remember?”

And Isak tries not to get angry with Magnus, really tries, because Magnus isn’t doing this to be mean, but Isak feels like his skin is stretched too tight and his nerves are too fraught, especially after this morning, and he can’t –

He turns off the water and twists to face Magnus, his mouth twisted downwards and eyes hard.

“Like I said, he hasn’t got any reason to stay,” and hopes for it to be enough.

Magnus only looks positively more confused. “What? What do you mean? You think he’d just leave without saying something?”

Isak snorts. Even saying something before leaving? That’s a novel idea.

“You don’t think you’re a reason to make him stick around? But the two of you were in love!”

Straight through the heart, Isak _feels_ the knife for what it is, so he locks up, tightens his body and hardens himself to make Magnus _stop_ , to not fucking cry right in the middle of the kitchen for the _second_ time today.

“Magnus,” Isak reminds him harshly, “I hadn’t seen Even for _two years_ , and I guarantee you, he was _not_ in love with me when he _left_.”

Magnus looks like Isak has just slapped him across the face, completely taken aback and actually physically withdrawing a step from Isak’s animosity.

“But –“ Magnus frowns. “But, surely, it wasn’t _all_ bad. Like, you wouldn’t have gotten married if it was.”

“You know what it’s like at that age,” Isak’s cheeks feel hot and his eyes are starting to burn. “It’s all – emotions so powerful you can’t think about anything else, it’s all ‘ _I love you until the end of time_ ’ and ‘ _I never want to be apart from you_ ’, and –“

He lets out a frustrated breath, chances looking over at Magnus. He looks sympathetic, yet still so, so calm. It makes it easier to draw in a full breath.

“You’ve met him,” Isak murmurs, because _Magnus_ _knows Even_. “It’s – he – he’s _everything_ , you know?”

He doesn’t know why he adds on the end, because _obviously_ Magnus knows. Isak has heard him rant about Even for literal _hours_. Magnus doesn’t reply, though. Maybe because Magnus also knows Isak, as much as Isak has been trying to hide himself away.

“He’s captivating. And enigmatic. And so fucking beautiful, like – fucking _everything_ about him is beautiful. And I was fifteen and stupid and in love. So, _so much_ in _fucking_ love with him, and I would’ve done _everything_ to be with him.”

Everything _except_ come out. Or maybe he would’ve done that too; a thought for the late nights that turned into early mornings worrying about _literally everything_. He never came to a conclusion, never really saw a point to it, because that past is in the past and Isak has spent literal years trying to live in the present instead.

It’s a bit of a moot point, because Isak wasn’t the only one vouching for them to not tell anyone. Even’s wishes would’ve always been factored in on the decision.

He knows he never would’ve given up on Even, though, and doesn’t _that_ thought leave him feeling wobbly for all the wrong reasons.

“He said, ‘ _come_ ’, and I followed, and he said, ‘ _stay with me forever_ ’, and I tried, and then he said, ‘ _stay_ ’, and I stayed, and he said, ‘ _sign here_ ’, and I –“

His voice stops working. His throat stops working. _Isak_ stops working.

He doesn’t dare look over at Magnus anymore, doesn’t know if he wants to see however it is Magnus is looking at him right now. He doesn’t want sympathy and he doesn’t want _pity_ , he doesn’t want Magnus to feel sorry for him or for him to comfort him, Isak just –

He doesn’t know what he wants. Hasn’t for so long now. Doesn’t even know if it helps saying all of this out loud or not.

It helps to stare blankly at the cupboards. Also helps him find his voice again.

“We were young. We both were. We were so, so young. Just – too young.”

He thankfully doesn’t ask questions like, ‘ _what happened?_ ’ because it’s quite obvious _what happened_ , and Isak isn’t ready to go over those months upon months of pure misery. Magnus had been there for some of it, anyway, so surely he must’ve been able to add the missing puzzle pieces together now that he knows the truth.

Magnus still doesn’t say anything when Mahdi wanders back into the kitchen with his laptop to type up an essay, and he also doesn’t say anything when Jonas gets back from his lecture, and Isak finds himself growing more and more grateful for having the best friends in the entire world. Maybe it’s just because of the extremely emotional morning and the fact that he still feels like he’s balancing on a line hovering fifteen feet in the air, but he’s just _really_ glad that he gets to have these three boys in his life.

Magnus definitely doesn’t say anything when Even finally wanders out of bed.

Or, he does say something, but nothing related to what he and Isak had been talking about.

“Even!” he shouts, holding his fist up for Even to pound, which he does with a laugh. “My man, you _finally_ up?”

Even laughs as he acquiesces to a bro-fist. He looks happy and sleep rumpled, a few pillow creases edged onto the side of his face, and Isak can’t stand to look at him for how much it hurts.

“Did you sleep well?” Jonas asks, tone carefully neutral, but Isak still tenses as if Jonas is about to give Even the shovel talk about five years too late.

Even moves closer to where the kitchen counter meets up with the windows, meaning he places himself next to Isak but not so close as to look obvious. Isak’s heart is pounding in his chest.

“I slept really well,” Even says, shyly looking over at Isak.

Isak stares resolutely at his hands.

“That’s good,” Jonas replies after a few tense seconds of complete silence. “Feel like you’re getting back on your feet?”

“Right,” Even replies, stilted and much less at ease from Isak’s lack of response. Isak can’t see it because he isn’t looking, but he knows Even will have straightened his back, will have set his face in a carefully neutral mask. He can’t tell if he’ll be looking at Isak or not, mainly because Isak has never actually seen Even do it in real life other than the time they’d accidentally run into each other on the street when he’d been with Mikael, Elias, Adam, and Mutta.

He’s seen him do it enough in interviews and paparazzi shots to know, though.

No one says anything after that. What the hell is there to say, after all?

“Are you hungry?” Isak asks, desperate to just do or say _something_ – anything superficial that will make time pass quicker. “I can make you some breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll make you some breakfast,” Isak tells him, moving to get the toaster out. He very deliberately ignores the shakiness of his hands.

Even looks lost as he stands there in their kitchen, not taking his eyes off of Isak as he flits about, trying to keep busy and not look over at Even.

Which isn’t easy when you’re making toast, as ‘toasting’ just takes a lot of standing around waiting for the bread to crispen up.

He decides to make another cup of coffee – not that he really wants one. He doubts Even does either, unless he’s suddenly started to like getting the cup-full of sugar-flavored coffee in the morning, but if neither of them drink it one of the boys probably will.

Even’s phone _pings_ as the last of the coffee is spouted out of the machine and into the mug, startling Isak as he narrowly misses the handle that would’ve sent the cup flying.

“You turned your phone on?” one of the boys ask, Isak can’t tell who. He hadn’t known Even had turned his phone on, hadn’t even known he’d charged it, how he’d charged it, because he’d shown up on Isak’s doorstep with nothing but himself and Isak is fairly certain he’s got one of those new, fancy phones that no one in this house has enough money to _look_ at.

“Yeah,” Even says, but he doesn’t bring his phone out to check. “Had a look around online this morning. Figured it was better to just get it over with, to know what everyone is saying and not just wondering about it.”

Isak doesn’t know what everyone is saying, has actually kept himself from checking, which was something he’d never managed to keep to when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t look up Even in the past. He doesn’t particularly want to know what everyone is saying, either, so he hurries to change the subject before it’s too late.

“It looks cold out today,” Isak comments, ignoring when Even stares at him incredulously and the boys pointedly look at where Mahdi’s sheet is still covering up the window.

“You know, us not talking about it isn’t going to change a goddamn thing,” Even snipes. Isak doesn’t remember Even pulling that tone at him before. No matter, Isak doesn’t _like_ it.

Even’s phone _clanks_ worryingly against the countertop, but Isak doesn’t care enough to check it for cracks and damages. At least he tells himself it’s because he doesn’t care. Even is rich now, he can buy what he wants to and treat his things the way he wants to, Isak doesn’t _care_.

“Twitter is talking about it,” Even nods at his phone. “All the gossip magazines. Some actual papers, as well. It’s trending right now, in fact. If everyone else in the world can talk about it, why can’t I talk about it with my husba-“

He cuts himself off, but the damage is already done.

Isak _freezes_.

“It _does_ look cold out today,” Magnus tries, but it’s just as convincing as it had been when Isak had tried it. “Proper Norwegian autumn weather, huh? Guess we should start layering up!” and grabs Isak’s hoodie where it hangs off of the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

He doesn’t get a chance to do any more than that, though, before Even calls out, “That’s my hoodie.” Its drawstrings are clearly visible in their colorful glory and the tip of one of the _i-_ s is peaking out.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s in his _throat_.

Mahdi looks around until he finds what Even is looking at. “Nah, that’s Isak’s,” he snorts. “It’s funny – that’s the only piece of clothing he’ll leave lying around whenever he –“

“That’s _my_ hoodie,” Even interrupts. He sounds like a toddler about to stomp his foot on the ground to get his way, but Isak knows that’s not what it’s about.

Isak can feel everyone’s eyes on his back like little pricks of needles. It’s making his skin flush and heart beat faster and he doesn’t turn around to look at any of them to give an explanation.

“That’s my hoodie,” Even repeats. “You told me you got rid of it.”

“Must’ve forgotten,” Isak says nonchalantly.

“You didn’t. You never forget anything. You told me you got rid of it, why would you lie –“

“It probably just got mixed up with your stuff and my stuff when I was packing,” Isak’s hands are shaking as he starts placing the cutlery into the right drawers.

“And, what, you just kept it all these years?”

Isak shrugs.

“ _Isak_!”

“Even,” Isak sighs and tries to busy himself with getting a cup of coffee. “Let’s not do –“

“Well, _when_ are we supposed to do it, then? _Huh_?” Even shouts. It startles Isak badly enough that he drops the empty mug onto the counter.

It lands right side up, the bottom clanging harshly as it spins around, wobbling worryingly for a second before it settles.

“Is it always going to be like this? This fucking, ‘ _Not now, Even_ ’, because I’m getting real sick and tired of that shit.” Even’s breathing is too harsh for the tense quiet that has settled over the room.

Isak can see Magnus out of the corner of his eye, and for the first time since he’s met Even, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now than here in this kitchen, in the middle of a fight that has been brewing for _years_.

“Even –“ Isak tries, already sounding tired and resigned, but Even holds a hand up and interrupts him.

“You think I don’t see it?” he asks, shaking his head like Isak is being purposely slow about this. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Wouldn’t recognize it for what it is? For what _you_ _do_?”

Isak stands stock still right there in his own kitchen, one hand still reaching out like he’ll grab onto the mug any second now and it’ll still be spinning and wobbling around even as he can tell it’s gained its balance all on its own.

“You run.” The words hurt like a slap to the cheek. “Isak, you’ve _always_ done this. You run, and if you can’t do that then you hide, because I _know_ you –“

“Don’t you fucking dare,” the words finally come back to Isak, who clenches his fists so tightly until they hurt. “Don’t you _dare_ , don’t you –“

Even’s jaw is clenched, and his eyes are narrowed into what could turn into a glare if it wasn’t aimed at Isak.

“You don’t know me. You gave up the right to know me when you _left_ me,” Isak reminds him harshly.

“I thought we _agreed_! You said I’d be an idiot if I didn’t leave!”

 _I never said, ‘leave me’, though!_ Isak wants to yell back.

“Whatever,” he snaps instead, turning the bread around so it can toast on the other side. It’s slightly too dark for Even’s taste, but Isak doesn’t _care_ , _hates_ that he even thinks about it.

“No, not ‘ _whatever_ ’. Honestly, what did you expect would happen?”

What did he _expect_? _Seriously_? So it’s _Isak’s_ _fault_ that he hadn’t known that being away from him for a couple of months would mean Even was ready to give him up entirely? How the _hell_ was he supposed to have known _that_ would happen?

“Christ,” Isak shakes his head.

Where the hell is he supposed to start? When he expected for Even to come back? When he expected for Even to not fucking _stop loving him_? When he expected for this year to not be as tremendously shitty as it has been so far? When he expected for this year to be _his year_?

“Lots of things were supposed to happen this year,” Isak snaps, his pulse rushing in his ears. “For one, I was going to stop letting people walk all over me. Including myself.”

Even startles, clearly not expecting an honest answer, if even an answer at all.

“I was supposed to be done and _get over you_ , and now here we are!”

“What do you mean ‘ _get over me_ ’? You’ve had years!”

Red, burning hot _fury_ washes over Isak.

“Well, ex-fucking- _cuse_ me if it wasn’t that easy for me, alright?” he scrapes harder at the bread, ends up with more toast on the knife than he does on the plate.

Even frowns. “How could it not have been –“

Isak is so angry, so fucking _angry_. How couldn’t it have been easy to get over Even, he knows is what Even had wanted to say before he cut himself off.

He can’t even tell what he’s more angry about – Even implying getting over him should’ve been the easiest thing to do, as if Even wasn’t the best thing that had happened to Isak, or the fact that their entire _thing_ , _them_ had been so easy for Even to get over that he couldn’t understand what a _hardship_ it had been for Isak.

Still was for Isak, because he wasn’t over Even. Not at all.

“But, _why_?” Even asks instead, sounding horribly lost and not at all like he’s asking Isak about why he wasn’t over them and their entire _marriage_ ending the day after it had happened, but Isak can’t tell what it _is_ he’s asking about.

So he sighs, plates up the horribly mistreated piece of toast and turns around so he isn’t facing the counter. It means he can see the rest of the boys, but it’s also easier to pull off not looking at Even when the only alternative is staring into the side of their fridge.

“Why – you signed – why sign at all, then?” Even tries when Isak doesn’t reply. “I just – I don’t understand. Isak, I don’t understand.”

There aren’t any tears stinging in Isak’s eyes, there _aren’t_. He firmly keeps his gaze on one of the pictures they have hanging on the wall out in the hallway, the only picture he can see from this angle. It’s one of Magnus asleep with a drawn-on moustache and unibrow that Magnus had laughed so hard at when he realized what they’d done to him _after_ he’d come back from the shops.

It makes it easier to pull back the tears. It does nothing to make his heart feel not as heavy and like it isn’t breaking apart inside of him for the umpteenth time.

“They weren’t showing your movie,” Isak crosses his arms over his chest and lets his body slowly fall backwards until his lower back presses into the counter.

Even’s brow furrows as he has to think back. Something inside Isak clenches at the thought that there had been a time when studios weren’t begging to showcase one of Even’s works, when he’d had to fight tooth and nail for it.

“What does that have to –“

“You know what that has to do with it,” Isak bites out.

He can’t even bring himself to look over at Even where he’s standing in front of their window with the afternoon sun shining in through the sheets, golden light framing him and Isak _can’t_ look.

“I just –“ he lets out a frustrated breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “I understand why you did it, it – I was so _pissed_ at you for the _way_ you did it, but it’s not like I don’t _get it_ , okay? I –“ Isak shakes his head. “It came down to an ultimatum, and –“

 _And you didn’t choose me_.

“– And I _get it_ ,” he tries again, not sure how else to make Even understand.

“Good,” Even says, making Isak’s heart hurt in ways he didn’t even know it could.

Except – except Even doesn’t sound like there’s any ‘ _goodness_ ’ to it at all.

Isak frowns and looks over at Even.

Even, who looks _angry_.

“Maybe you could explain it to me, then, because I sure don’t ‘ _get it_ ’.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

Isak’s cheeks _burn_. He feels fucking humiliated.

“The studio wasn’t showing your movie because you had a husband waiting for you at home.”

“Isak,” Even sounds horrified, actually _horrified_. “What did you do?”

“What you asked me to do,” Isak reminds him. He feels so tired all of a sudden, just completely exhausted with everything. He’s still angry, still feels so ashamed with himself. He’s tired of being angry, but it doesn’t stop. It’ll keep going until he boils over.

“Isak, what did you _do_?”

“I signed the fucking papers. Why can’t you just leave me alone – I did what you wanted!”

Even stills. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Isak who is _panting_ and so fucking angry and _hurt_ he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“What papers?” Even finally asks, a lot calmer than Isak thinks he has any right to, because _what fucking papers_ does he _think_ Isak is talking about?

“Don’t fucking do this to me, Even,” Isak warns. “You _know_ what papers.”

Even shakes his head. “I really fucking don’t. _What. Papers_?”

Isak can’t tell if this is a joke – if it is, it’s fucking _stupid_ and _hurtful_.

So Isak levels the best glare he can at Even and tells him pointblank, “Every single piece of paper you had your goddamn lawyers put in front of me.”

Isak doesn’t know what he expects, if he even expects anything – an apology? For Even to admit that he had done that? That he was the biggest asshole in the world for ending things like that instead of just telling Isak to his face? Or over the phone? Or through a goddamn _text_?

Even doesn’t do any of that. He just keeps staring at Isak as if he has short-circuited, his brain not processing any of what Isak is saying.

Isak isn’t getting an apology or a confession or Even on his knees, begging for Isak to take him back. He isn’t getting anything, so Isak lets it go. Shakes his head and looks away from Even, can’t stand to keep looking at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells Even, way more bitter than he’d intended for it to come out. “I kept my fucking mouth shut – as if I wouldn’t have anyway, had you not made sure of that too.”

The divorce papers were one thing, but a fucking _non-disclosure agreement_ had just been excessive, legal _bullshit_.

Seeing the divorce papers in front of him had probably been the worst moment in Isak’s life. Which is why he doesn’t expect for Even’s next words to turn his world as much upside-down as they do.

“I didn’t send any papers.”

Isak’s head snaps back up to look at Even.

Even had stilled when Isak had shouted at him that he’d signed all the papers. Isak’s entire world _stops_ when Even tells him he hadn’t sent any papers.

So many emotions are rushing through him – anger at the thought of Even _still_ not wanting to admit it, hope that he’s telling the truth and hadn’t wanted to leave Isak forever, confusion because _what the fuck does that mean_? And why the fuck had Isak been sat down and told to sign to agree to his own fucking _divorce_?

No one says anything. Isak is the one to break the silence when he finally manages to get his tongue to work and ask, “Huh?”

“I didn’t send any papers,” Even repeats, slow and methodical and still looking like he’s locked away from the world. “ _You_ sent me divorce papers. Already signed.”

“I _signed_ the papers _you_ sent me.”

“I didn’t send any papers,” Even repeats for the _third time_ as if it makes any more sense the _third time_. “I didn’t ask you for a divorce.”

Isak can’t feel his body. He can’t feel anything.

“Then –“ he can’t get the words out. Too many thoughts are flying through his head for him to make out any of them. He feels like the floor has disappeared from underneath his feet. “Then why – what –“

“Holy fuck,” he thinks he hears Mahdi mutter.

“But you did!” Isak frowns. Nothing makes any sense anymore. “You did, they told me you did!”

“I didn’t,” Even insists, voice thick and – is he crying? Isak can’t tell, can’t make out any of Even’s features properly, everything looks blurry. “The only papers I ever sent you was an e-mail with the details so you could come with me for the promo.”

Isak hadn’t gotten those papers. He would’ve preferred to have gotten _those_ papers.

“What the fuck,” Jonas mumbles. For some reason Isak hears that more clearly than any time Even repeated he hadn’t sent Isak _divorce papers_. “What the _fuck_.”

“You didn’t send me –” he tries to ask, voice quiet revealing just how terribly small he feels right now.

He’d felt in love when he asked Even to marry him. He’d felt young and stupid and still in love when he’d signed his name on the papers saying he wouldn’t be married anymore. He feels just as young and stupid right now and still wishes to not feel in love.

Even shakes his head. His eyes are shiny, shoulders hunched, appearing just as small as Isak feels. “I thought _you_ sent –“ cutting himself off accidentally when his voice cracks.

What the fuck indeed, Jonas. What the _fuck_.

What the _fuck_ does this _mean_?

Isak knows what this means. It means the studio’s management team had seen an opportunity – they’d seen Even’s potential, and they traced all of his problems back to patient zero, which had been Isak, because they hadn’t lied about that. Even’s movie wasn’t being shown because he was a ‘gay’ director with a husband waiting for him at home. It was a PR disaster waiting to happen, and so they took care of it before it became a bigger problem.

Isak hadn’t realized just how right he’d been when he told Magnus this morning that he and Even had just been too young, not for the reasons he’d said it. Their age and inexperience had been a weakness any corporate suit-wearing asshole had been able to sniff out, and they had used it to their advantage, had gotten Isak to sign fucking divorce papers with a limited amount of questions.

Two closeted ‘gay’ boys who had played into their hands like it had all been scripted.

God, Isak has gone _years_ blaming Even, being so fucking angry with him. Years and years and now he finds out that it’s all been for _nothing_.

Because Even hadn’t fallen out of love with him. Even hadn’t chosen to stay in America, he’d been coming back to him. Even hadn’t been given an ultimatum – directing or his marriage – and he hadn’t not chosen Isak.

Isak had spent so long being so fucked up over Even – still was, if he could ever come to admit it to himself – had practically been on his to drinking himself into an early grave, that was how bad it had been. And now he finds out there hadn’t been any point to it at all.

But if Isak takes a second to think about it, what would be different? Had he and Even not broken apart, if they’d stayed together for all of these years, what would’ve been different?

Besides the obvious of countless sleepless nights and self-destructive behavior, either no studio would’ve showed Even’s movie, or Even’s career still would’ve taken off exponentially, and Even would’ve been travelling all over the world scouting for filming locations, but Isak would’ve still been stuck back in Norway. That wouldn’t be different, because no one would know about Isak and Even, and they still would’ve been terrified of anyone finding out. Isak would’ve spent several years waiting for whatever brief interludes of Even coming back instead of the nearly single year that he barely made it through.

Except for the one obvious thing, that he and Even not being together had made Even what he was today – big, world-famous movie director, which is what Isak had always wanted for him anyways – nothing else that _could’ve_ been different seems to compare to that gain.

So when Isak takes the time to think about what would’ve been different, he thinks and builds up each parallel universe, and he comes up with _nothing_.

Nothing would’ve been different.

So he asks Even, “What would it matter?”

Even stills mid-motion. His eyes are wild and he keeps staring at Isak like he’s a stranger.

“What?”

Even isn’t the only one who looks at Isak like he’s missed the point entirely, when Isak is pretty sure he’s the _only one_ here who gets it for what it is.

“What do you mean?” Even asks, hurt and confused and angry, and Isak hates that he still recognizes any emotion that comes across Even’s face, no matter how fleeting.

It makes it so much more difficult to keep a straight face and not flinch when Even starts to talk.

“Are you talking about how my _management team_ wouldn’t have convinced my _husband_ that I didn’t want anything to do with him? Or the fact that they literally talked him into signing _divorce papers_? Or are you talking about how we haven’t spoken in _two years_ and I’ve _fucking missed you_?”

Isak can’t keep the flinch away, he can’t. He flinches and he crumbles and he hunches forward, body curling in on itself. He thinks of Even’s career and of him being robbed of every opportunity because of Isak, because of what being with Isak meant. The lawyers hadn’t lied about that. “Are you saying it wasn’t the best decision?”

Even definitely _looks_ like he doesn’t think it was the best decision in a horrible situation. “Maybe _I_ would’ve liked having _a choice_!”

“What does it matter?” Isak tears at his own fringe in frustration. “Would anything really be different?”

Even physically takes a step back from Isak, like he can’t stand even being near the hypothetical scenario of them having stayed together and this _still_ being status quo.

“You’re not out, Even,” he reminds him. “You’ve had years to come out, _years_ where you’ve been established and any possible fallout could be minimized, yet you _didn’t_.”

Isak feels sick at that thought. Never mind he’d been doing the exact same thing for just as long.

Even’s mouth keeps opening and closing, like he’s fighting to find the words, but Isak for once is nowhere near done.

“Even, I _remember_. I remember your scripts; I remember what your movies were supposed to be like. ‘ _Save You Right Back_ ’ was supposed to be about two _girls_.”

Even doesn’t answer. Isak isn’t sure what he’d want him to say, anyway.

“Who made the decision to change it?” he continues unapologetically.

Even looks away, down to the counter. But Isak doesn’t have to look him in the eyes to see the guilt and the shame there.

“Because it wasn’t you,” he insists, clenches his fists and ignores how teary his eyes are. “If you’d wanted it to be a boy and a girl, you would’ve _written_ it like that to begin with. But you _didn’t_.”

“You never told anyone about us either!” Even accuses, deflects because he _knows_ Isak is right.

“Well, I fucking couldn’t, could I? Not with that fucking NDA hanging over my head.”

The apartment feels way too small, feels like it’s closing in around Isak with each breath he struggles to take.

“What did you do?” Even asks, sounding just as horrified as he had when Isak had confessed why he signed the papers.

“They worked so hard to make you out like your perfectly average, straight guy; did you really think they’d let a lose end like me just hang around?”

“Isak –“ Even’s voice cracks. “I can’t believe –“

Except he can and Isak can tell that he can.

That doesn’t mean he’s able to predict Even’s question, apparently.

“How?”

Isak snorts and tells him a lot meaner than intended, “How I signed? With a fucking pen, Even.”

Signing the NDA hadn’t been the hard part. He would’ve signed it without question even if they hadn’t presented him with divorce papers first. Keeping his mouth shut had never been the problem.

Even scowls, which isn’t a nice look on his face. “No, _how_ did they _make_ you sign it?”

Isak almost wants to be a brat, to be a pest and reply _with a pen_ , but he doesn’t want to be petty.

Even interrupts him before he can say anything anyway. “Because you wouldn’t just sign them out of the blue, would you have?”

Isak flushes, feels his heart beat quicker. Even though he keeps quiet, it’s enough of a tell for Even to know that, _no_ , Isak didn’t sign any papers they presented him as soon as they brought them out.

“So what did they tell you?”

“I already told you,” Isak reminds him. “No one would show your movie when you had a husband waiting for you at home.”

“Isak,” and Even doesn’t sound angry, which is probably the worst part. He just sounds horribly sad. Isak doesn’t like to hear Even like that, and he doesn’t like to hear Even say his name like that. “ _Isak_.”

“Don’t,” he warns him. “Just – don’t, okay?”

Even shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything thankfully. He looks too impossibly sad to talk.

Turns out the silence is much worse. Isak twitches with it, feels it clogging up his lungs until they burn and his eyes are burning and everything hurts.

“What if that had been it?”

Isak winces involuntarily at not being able to keep his mouth shut. He should stop talking, should just accept his life for what it is and move on, move on from Even, move on _without_ Even as he has been these past two years. He shouldn’t keep digging around in it like this, it’ll kill him.

But he still starts to talk.

“What if I had told them no and they refused to show your movie indefinitely?” his eyes sting. Even looks like his might be stinging as well. “What if that had been it for you?”

“Isak –“ Even starts, not getting much further.

“I wanted it for you,” Isak admits. “I wanted you to make movies, to be a big director, and I wanted your movie to be shown. I wanted people to see it and see how brilliant you were, see how much you loved directing and films. I was pissed at _how_ you decided to break it off with me, but –“

His words get caught in his throat; he can’t say it out loud.

Even just sending the papers with the lawyers had been what had made things so bad. Isak had barely stumbled over how Even had chosen his career instead of Isak.

Even gets it anyway, though. Isak can tell, because he gets impossibly sadder, his entire body slumping down as if his strings have been caught and his knees are shaking so he ends up standing a bit wobbly.

“I didn’t want for that to be _it_ for you,” Isak says instead. _I didn’t want for me to be the end for you_. “I wanted you to have your epic story, and I couldn’t give you that.”

“But _you_ were supposed to be my epic story?” Even tells him desperately. “Don’t you get that? _You_ were going to be that for me. I wanted _you_.”

Isak shakes his head and bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. “I wanted you to have more.”

This time Even is the one who shakes his head, slowly and distantly, as if he isn’t really aware he’s doing it. Once he’s done, it’s almost as if he’s looking right through Isak, not seeing what’s in front of him.

He slides his hand along the counter for the first couple of steps, then carefully sidesteps a safe distance away from Isak, walking past him and all the other boys in the kitchen who Isak had honestly forgotten were there, taking heavy steps down the hallway until Isak hears his bedroom door click shut.

Isak takes a deep breath, fails, then tries to take another one.

“Hey,” someone whispers, reaching out and grabbing on to his shoulder. “Is, _breathe_. Fuck.”

Isak doesn’t know how to breathe. He hasn’t been able to for years, and finally saying why, finding out that the entire thing had been a _lie_ , hasn’t made it any easier.

Even hadn’t wanted to divorce him. His team had wanted to divorce them, because straight-Even meant more money than ‘gay’-Even. Isak doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what to do with any of this.

“Holy shit,” Magnus says, and then repeats it. “Holy _shit_.”

“This is so fucked up,” Jonas agrees, sinking onto a chair with a thump. Isak almost wants to laugh, but it would be out of hysteria rather than actual amusement.

Isak isn’t used to Jonas or Magnus being of few words, of something happening to rob them of their voices, but this has managed to do it. They’re both sitting there silently and staring into the air as if something will appear that can fix all of this.

Isak isn’t used to Jonas and Magnus being the quiet ones, but it’s what Mahdi tells him that really feels like a punch to the stomach.

“Neither of you would’ve gotten hurt like this,” Mahdi tells him, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s what would’ve been different. And, personally, I think that would’ve been enough to be worth it.”

**_ Past _ **

Starting university is supposed to be a happy time. Filled with nerves for the future, for _your_ future, sure, but it’s supposed to be nerves stemming from excitement as well.

Isak _hates_ it.

He stays in bed for the entire introduction week. There aren’t any classes and all the schedule had said was mostly just getting a tour around the place and lectures about rules and what the university can do for you and your future, and Isak _can’t_ think about any of that, so he buys another bottle of whatever hard liquor his hand first grabs – tequila, yuck, so not his favorite – and it’s gone before the week is halfway over.

He still feels slightly hung-over the week after when he actually gets out of bed and stumbles onto university grounds.

He goes exploring, just like everyone else, sees what new options he suddenly has. There are loads of recommendations for locals clubs, bars, then the university’s own student union, student bar, student clubs, all the parties and activities welcoming the first years, extracurricular opportunities, Isak kind of stops listening once the options drift away from anything that involves alcohol.

He goes to all the places whose intentions were to encourage the students to be social. He goes to the bar that Friday during the first week, when everyone is still new and nervous and desperate to make friends and find solidarity between each other, and he drinks himself stupid for far too much money. He’s far drunker than any of the other students there, and that sure is saying something. He’s the only one this level of drunk who is still standing on his feet.

No one comments on it, but he doesn’t remember any names of the group he’s standing with, so he doubts they remember his. It’s not like they really care, anyway, they’re not friends, they barely know each other, and Isak thinks that should make him feel lonely, but the alcohol has numbed everything inside him, has finally slowed down his thoughts and gotten him out of his head that he doesn’t register anything around him.

It’s a nice reprieve and Isak takes another shot to that.

He’s moved into student housing, hadn’t had the courage to ask Eskild for something. Noora was still living there as far as he was aware, anyway, and the Kollektiv only had the three rooms. This was better for everyone involved.

It’s most certainly better – or worse, depending on how you see it, Isak chooses to see it as ‘better’ – for his drinking habits. His room is tiny, but there are ten-or-so people he’s sharing a kitchen with and there are usually always a couple of them who are up for drinking, even if it is a Tuesday night and there’s a possibility of a practice exam the next morning. He doesn’t know their names either.

They also don’t know his, he gathers, because one guy stubbornly calls him ‘Ivan’ and Isak doesn’t even bother correcting him, hasn’t since the first time he did it. It doesn’t really matter, anyway.

There is one guy Isak makes it a point whose name to remember; a little shorter than him with wild, dark curls and a thick set of eyebrows. He’s studying something like political science, and Isak had snorted and told him that wasn’t _real_ science with enough snark that most people would’ve excused themselves from the conversation and left, but Jonas had only laughed and shared his last beer with him.

They’re not friends, not really anyway. He’s the only person Isak has actually made an effort to check in with at least every other week, but other than that they hardly see each other outside of when Isak is asking people about their drinking plans.

Not that he needs other people to be drinking, because he doesn’t. But it’s nicer to blend into a crowd, let their drunken roars and cheering overpower whatever the alcohol can’t, and it means he isn’t alone in his misery the morning after, so that’s nice too.

Well, it’s _mostly_ nicer, because even though this is university, everyone is still eighteen or nineteen, which means they are _teenage boys_ , who, in Isak’s experience, can be some of the worst people to be around.

Jonas isn’t exactly what one might call the ‘life of the party’ – he’s way too chill for that, laid-back and calm and too often breaking into a rant about the consequences of capitalism, but he still has people buzzing around him, drawing them near simply because Jonas is _cool_.

With his curls and his backwards cap and his guitar that he’ll break out if they’re attending a house party that _Eva_ will be attending.

Eva and her long, auburn hair, who is studying psychology and binges Dr. Phil most evenings.

Jonas likes her for those reasons and more. Isak likes her because she’s fun and always ready for shots and liquor, even if she is a sloppy drunk.

Isak can tell that she’s lonely, but he has honestly run out of empathy and can’t seem to make himself care about anything but when he can get his next glass of _anything_ that contains alcohol.

So Eva latches on to him and Jonas most days, especially at parties like this one – which Jonas is especially pleased with. Isak should probably set up a pool for when they’re going to kiss, because he would _definitely_ win, but he again finds himself not able to really care about anything.

It can’t be healthy, he knows that, but Isak also doubts the amount of alcohol he’s consuming daily, if not weekly, is far from healthy either, and out of the two, it will probably be the drinking that gets him killed first.

If you don’t mention how the only reason why he’s drinking so excessively is to stop his brain from overworking that is.

He needs to not think, that’s what he needs.

Which, Isak has found out, is simultaneously easy and difficult amongst teenage boys. They are the best enablers, but they are also the biggest assholes who will accidentally play on your fears and deepest, darkest secrets.

Jonas plays a few chords, lets them ring out before he switches his grip and plays something else. He’s got two girls sitting on the armrests beside him and a group of people somewhat centered around him.

“Any requests?”

“Play Justin Bieber,” one of the girls suggests.

Jonas wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Isak? What do you want to hear?”

“Play ‘ _I’m yours_ ’!” Isak calls out.

“Nei,” Jonas protests, still strumming along, not really playing anything else. “Come on, man, you only know gay songs.”

Isak’s heart feels stuck in his _throat_. “Hold kjeft!” he shouts back, voice not wavering. “How is that a ‘ _gay song_ ’?”

Jonas doesn’t get the chance to reply before Eva’s already started on the lyrics to _I’m yours_. Suddenly, Jonas doesn’t have any problems playing that _gay song_.

Isak downs three shots in a row until the room is swaying along with the _gay music_ being played.

He just needs to stop being so sensitive. He needs to stop thinking.

He barely goes to half of his lectures and only the ones that aren’t in the morning – he still manages to show up with a hangover, though. He doesn’t go to any of his tutorials, hands in his homework with seconds to spare, half-assed and probably incomplete at times.

Isak doesn’t care. That’s probably the scariest bit – he’s always cared, especially about his grades and his schoolwork. It had been his way of escaping from reality for most of his life, and he likes to learn, likes to work out problems and figure things out, like tying knots together. And he just doesn’t care.

He should probably call Eskild, to be honest. Claiming that he wasn’t in desperate need of some help right now would be the biggest lie Isak’s ever had to tell, and he’s told some pretty fucking big ones.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t call Eskild.

Eskild will be able to tell something is wrong, because how _wouldn’t he_ be able to tell? And Isak won’t be able to say anything – his name is on papers explaining extremely thoroughly just what were to happen to him if he ever said something, and at this point he’s lied to Eskild for _years_. How is he meant to tell him that?

And Eskild won’t back down without an explanation – won’t take Isak on his word when he says he’s just stressed, that university is different from high school and more difficult and he’s spending so many hours working hard so he’s just _stressed_.

Jonas and Eva end up together. Isak doesn’t register anything changing, probably because he doesn’t hang out with them unless it’s at a party – but then again, they seem to be making out at each of those parties, so Isak probably should have noticed it.

Would’ve if he hadn’t kept his eyes on the kitchens and the alcohol supply. If he wasn’t sneaking into bathrooms with Jonas to smoke the odd blunt that Jonas somehow manages to scrounge up. If Even could see him now.

Jonas tells him about him and Eva, that’s how Isak finds out. He’s just gotten a bottle of something nauseatingly fluorescent out of a crate when Jonas finds him and tells him Eva agreed for them to be an official couple.

Isak doesn’t hear him the first time he says it, blood rushing in his ears from standing upright too quickly, and then he simply doesn’t register it the next time. Third time is the charm, so Isak laughs, messily pours out the contents of the bottle into two glasses.

“Cheers!” he yells, clanking his glass against Jonas’, which he hasn’t even gotten the chance to pick up yet.

Jonas laughs when Isak downs four shots back-to-back and nearly throws up, claps him on the back when he doesn’t get sick.

It doesn’t come across for ages that just because Isak is walking around in an intoxicated bliss completely unaware of everyone around him doesn’t mean that people are unaware of Isak. He gets the reputation of being a party animal, of always being up for a drink. Girls like to ask him to dance, and Isak can never remember how he refuses them without seeming like an asshole, but Isak certainly knows he doesn’t use the explanation that would definitely get them to leave him alone. Why ruin a good thing before it’s barely started, after all?

He knows he sneaks away to the bathroom, sometimes, just to avoid the crowd, also to riffle through the drawers. He knows what words he needs to look for, recognizes what medications will make you geared and which will make you exhausted. Occasionally knows which ones you probably shouldn’t fuck with when you downed a fuckton of alcohol, but Isak has mostly gotten to a point when he’s looking for prescribed drugs where he just doesn’t care about that.

Funny thing, people always keep their medication in a cabinet or in drawer right by the mirror. Isak only notices because it means he has to work particularly hard not to look up.

He hasn’t looked at his own reflection in months. He doesn’t think he’ll like the sight of it if he were to, doesn’t think he’ll recognize himself.

But then again, Isak hasn’t known how to be ‘ _himself_ ’ since a bunch of guys in suits shoved wads of papers at him until he signed all of them. He doesn’t know what being ‘ _Isak_ ’ means, because for so long he’s been _IsakandEven_ , and he’s not certain he likes the parts of the ‘ _Isak_ ’ he’s been left with.

Not to mention how having half of him cut off has left him feeling like he’s wobbling on the edge.

Sometimes the worst part of it is the feeling that Even also wouldn’t like this Isak, but then Isak remembers the Even also apparently hadn’t liked the Isak that had been part of _IsakandEven_ , so it’s not like that fucking matters.

It wouldn’t matter anyway, because Even isn’t here. _Isak_ is here, in a dirty bathroom at some party, hands shaking and unable to look himself in the eye, three sheets to the wind and so fucking unhappy it’s easier to fall into apathy than actually deal with it.

Because how the hell is he supposed to deal with it? He doesn’t have a clue, and so he resorts to the equivalent of putting a band-aid on a gaping wound.

He stumbles his way back out of the bathroom, a zyrtec-pill in his pocket for if he needs a little help tonight falling asleep, if he hasn’t reached black-out state at that point, that is.

OOOOO

Jonas and Eva finding their lives getting more and more entangled means Jonas doesn’t want to go out partying with Isak anymore.

Which is – fine. Isak doesn’t need Jonas in order to go out partying.

It’s still surprisingly difficult to get Jonas’ furrowed eyebrows and grimace out of Isak’s head.

“ _It’s Tuesday_ ,” he’d said. “ _Don’t you have a lecture tomorrow morning_?”

As if Isak knows. He doesn’t even know which subjects he’s taking at this point – it’s all just some variation of biology or physics or chemistry or a mix of all three, and then a few introductory courses that are hopefully so laughably easy that Isak not having opened a single book yet is justified.

It’s already dark out despite having just gone past dinner time. It’s cold, too. Isak doesn’t remember when summer ended and September passed into October.

He does remember standing on Jerusalem Bridge and absolutely _screaming_ until he loses his voice.

He doesn’t tell anyone why he refuses to answer them the following two days. No one asks, anyway.

OOOOO

Come the weekend, Jonas suddenly doesn’t hold the same opinion he does during the weekdays.

Isak suspects it’s because Eva wants to go out. But then again, Eva is particularly good at conjuring alcohol out of thin air, so Isak accompanies them to the Union.

There are plenty of people there, most standing around the bar. Eva pushes her way to the front and gets served before seven other people who by the looks of it have been waiting for a while.

“Hey,” Jonas pushes at him with his elbow, doing a subtle nod towards two blond girls sitting in a booth when he finally gets Isak’s attention. “They haven’t stopped looking at you since we walked in.”

Which was five seconds ago, Isak doesn’t remind him.

When Eva gets back, Isak doesn’t even ask her what she’s bought for them, just grabs the two drinks she holds out to him, downing one of them immediately.

 _Bad idea_ , Isak coughs, his airways and lungs and _everything_ burning.

Eva grins mischievously because _of course_ she was perfectly aware of what Isak would do and the absolute _agony_ he’d be in over it.

“You alright, there?” she grins, laughing when Isak coughs out a “ _Never been better_ ,” that’s barely intelligible.

“Have another one, then,” she nods to the other glass Isak is holding.

Which Isak proceeds to down as well. _Fuck_.

“You idiot!” Jonas laughs, slinging an arm around Eva’s shoulders. “So, what about it?”

“What about what?” Eva asks, looking between him and Jonas.

Jonas nods towards the girls again. They’re still looking.

Isak shrugs, doesn’t look either Eva or Jonas in the eyes. “Why hurry? We just got here, there’s no need to settle on the first one to come along.” _If only they knew_.

Jonas laughs. “But sometimes the first one who comes along is actually just the one who stands out the most. You just know, you know? I knew with Eva.”

“Oh, _fy faen_!” Eva yells, knocking her elbow into Jonas’ ribs. “That was _so_ bad! And what you’re basically saying is that I should still be with my high school sweetheart, Chris, remember I told you about him?” But she also immediately cozies up to Jonas, downing one glass to free a hand that she uses to grab onto his hair and drag him down for a kiss.

Isak does not feel absolutely paralyzed with the amount of hurt that rushes through him at Eva’s words. After all, who meets their soulmate at fifteen? No one does, that’s who. No one in the entire world.

“Don’t mind me,” Isak yells when the smacking of lips isn’t overpowered by the general noise and music. Completely unnecessarily, by the way, because they’re not paying attention to him. “I’ll just go get another drink.”

It’s stupid to feel this way. Isak knows that.

He slinks up to the bar, flags down a bartender and asks for literally _whatever_. He spends the time waiting for his drink looking back over his shoulder. Jonas and Eva are still kissing, but it’s not the making out they’d been doing when Isak left. It’s small kisses and words whispered in-between, and smiles too wide to kiss properly.

And Isak isn’t drunk enough that he can fool himself into believing that the hurt inside of him is from the burn of the alcohol, that it isn’t from the big, black hole of his heart shattered into a million pieces with half of it missing.

The endless hurt, the burning jealousy, the fucking _longing_ – which is _stupid_ , because Isak never had this with Even; they’d never gone out like this, to hang out with friends and then been so in love they couldn’t look past each other anyway. They’d kissed like that and they’d been in love – maybe, maybe everything had been a lie for Even – though, and it’s enough that Isak is no longer wobbling on the edge but tumbling straight off of it.

The Union cuts him off at one point, which sucks but is ultimately fine. Isak can’t find neither Jonas or Eva, either, which is also fine. He just ends up leaving to find a club somewhere that’s shady enough they’ll let him drink.

He just needs a fucking drink.

OOOOO

He hides away in his room for four days straight after that. Jonas comes and knocks to hear if he’s okay. Isak keeps quiet until one of the girls they’re sharing a living space with walks past and asks if Isak isn’t in the _biovitenskap_ program, because her boyfriend is and there’s a lecture going on right now.

Isak hasn’t attended a single lecture at this point of the day, which Jonas probably knows if he’s paid attention to Isak’s schedule.

Sometimes people will believe what they want to believe, what is easiest for them to believe, though, so Jonas tells the girls that _she’s probably right_ and leaves.

Isak throws himself back onto his bed, pulling the scratchy sheets over his head and _begs_ for sleep.

OOOOO

It’s as if becoming boyfriends with Jonas suddenly gave Eva the boost she needed to reach out to other people. Which is nice, don’t get Isak wrong, he likes that they’re good for each like that, that Jonas was also able to see that Eva was lonely and encouraged her to just _say something_ to other people.

Isak is still very much on his own, doesn’t know any other names than Eva’s and Jonas’, which he’s fine with. To be honest, he’s still not certain it isn’t two names too many.

He still does most things on his own as well, probably wouldn’t even see Eva and Jonas if they weren’t putting in the effort themselves, but for some reason other people have started to see the three of them as a trio.

Which is why when Eva starts to brand out, Isak meets new people as well.

First it’s Vilde who is studying physical training and shares a class with Eva on human behavior. Vilde is… _Vilde_ , which is probably the best description Isak could hope to give.

With Vilde comes Chris who studies pedagogy and wants to work with children. Something Isak probably could’ve guessed by the look of her colorful wardrobe by itself.

Isak doesn’t meet the two last girls Eva has found herself growing closer to – Noora, journalism, and Sana.

Sana is in the same program as Isak, but seeing as Isak hasn’t been paying attention to his studies, he definitely hasn’t spent his time socializing or ‘people watching’. When Eva asks him if he knows her, he shrugs and hangs onto a stranger’s shoulders, yelling rhythmically until he gets a chant going and Eva gets enough drinks in her that she forgets what they’d been talking about.

OOOOO

They have to complete a questionnaire about how starting at university has been for them. Isak only finds out about it because a gets a personal email from the administration, asking him to just fucking do it – in not so many words.

Some of the questions are easy – _has anyone sexually violated you physically or verbally_ , _has he been able to figure out how Canvas works_ , _how did he find the introductory week to have been_?

And then there are the not so easy questions to answer. The ones about _if he’s been able to show up for class_ , _if he’s feeling stressed or depressed_ , _has he made any friends_ , _how is his time management_.

How is Isak supposed to tell them that most days he can’t even fucking _breathe_ let alone worry about shit like making sure he sleeps for enough hours and doesn’t let his studying take over too much of his time?

How is Isak supposed to tell them that the thought of making friends makes his physically _ill_ , because he got to hide away with Even for _years_ and not need anyone else, and now the idea of other people seeing him is suddenly ten times more terrifying than it had been when Isak was still living at the kollektiv with Eskild and Linn who could’ve walked in on them at _literally_ any time? Because they’ll _know_ if they get the chance to look too closely. Elias and his group of goons had known after all, and that had been while Isak himself hadn’t been certain. Now that he _knows_ , as much as he hates it, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to remember how to fool anyone that he’s _not_.

OOOOO

Eva isn’t the only one who makes friends.

Through Jonas, Isak meats Magnus; a mixed-media student with more shit coming out of his mouth than any other person Isak has ever met – and then there’s Mahdi whom Isak isn’t entirely certain what is doing here, because he never seems to go to any classes either. He thinks he’s a business major, but maybe Isak has mixed it up with the _other_ business that Mahdi’s dealing in as well.

Isak is glad for the introduction, but only because he’s apparently been sharing a living space with the two of them yet he hasn’t noticed them _once_. If Jonas hadn’t told him their names, he would’ve been _screwed_.

They like to complain together – or, that is, the other three like to complain and Isak bides his time for when he can _leave_. In the beginning, because things are still a bit awkward, they complain about the other residents; the girl with the bioscience boyfriend who moans so much louder than the girl that at this point they’re unsure of _just who_ is faking it, the girl who meticulously labels every piece of shit that belongs to her, the guy who refuses to turn down his music because _it’ll ruin his vibe_.

Then things slowly progress to sharing failed or successful hook-up stories. Magnus asks for advice, Jonas half-heartedly tries whilst Mahdi laughs and Isak throws bordering-on-mean comments, one right after the other.

It’s easy to do that, it’s always been easy to retaliate with quick wit or anger when Isak feels like his airways have tied a knot on themselves and that his heart his beating so loudly everyone can hear it and the feeling of _they know_ is so _stuck_ Isak can’t imagine it’ll ever go away.

And when they ask him about stories, Isak can’t tell any – _obviously_ , but even he _could’ve_ he wouldn’t have, so what’s the point.

“No need,” he’ll shrug, “I’ve already found the solution to _every_ version of a hook-up.”

Magnus gapes at him. “What?”

Isak brings out a large bottle of something – he’s not entirely sure what, because he’d snatched it from label-girl and had spent ages scratching off her tag, but that had ruined whatever label had been wrapped around the bottle, so now Isak has a mystery-liquid that’ll almost guaranteed fuck him up.

Or there’s the other version where he picks up his jacket and tells them he’s going out – if they want him to hook up so badly, they’ll have to come and see it.

They never see anything. Most nights are school nights, and not even Mahdi is willing to have a party schedule like Isak’s, but on the nights where they actually join him, Isak makes sure that they all get enough beer and whatever else inside of them that by the time the night is over, no one remembers that Isak hasn’t kissed anyone, hasn’t even attempted to, that he’d stuck close to the steady alcohol supply money could buy him and then he’d stumbled home.

Or the third option, where Isak has had enough before they even get started on talking about girls and excuses himself to go do homework. The most bullshit excuse and the boys know it. Everyone knows it, because no one has actually seen Isak do any homework thus far, and they’re over halfway through the first semester by now.

That’s the option that makes Isak wonder why the boys even bother trying to include Isak in whatever it is they have going on – friendship, broship, whatever. Isak doesn’t think he’s worth all the fuss, so giving them the bullshit excuse is executed more often than he should.

The fact that he doesn’t even bother pretending to study doesn’t help either. He’ll just grab his jacket – too thin for the weather, Even would’ve killed him for wearing it at this time of the year, but Even isn’t _here, is he_ – and walk right back out until he finds somewhere to be, somewhere to forget.

Forgetting isn’t easy.

It’s nearly four years of Isak’s life that he needs to forget. It’s years upon years of shame and guilt for being a _liar_ – something he’s reminded of every time he thinks of Eskild – and it’s years upon years of being in love and being made a fool of because he’d believed in that love.

And it’s a lot of fucking self-hatred for not being able to just _let it go_.

Isak isn’t very good at forgetting. He’s always been clever, has always had the brain for learning new things and building on top of the old.

So if Isak has to fuck up his brain and poison his body to be able to finally forget? So be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Ericka1991 for calling me out already in chapter 9 for getting the studio involved in the divorce. Here's to me thinking this story was going to be full of surprises - nope! xD
> 
> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/623882179978706944/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This past was actually the last past that I wrote. I had originally planned to write next chapter's past as the last, but then a song got released that was just _perfect_ to what I wanted to write, so I wrote that one first. I had fewer ideas for this chapter's past, so I figured it would just be a bit shorter than next chapter's, and that was fine because it would still only be, like, the fifth/sixth shortest past of all the chapters.
> 
> Naturally, it is +1k longer than next chapter's past. I'm starting to see a pattern.
> 
> However! Fun fact, this is the only chapter where a present or past is 5k long - obviously both of them ending up that length. Of course.

**_ Present _ **

“I need to talk to him.”

Isak hasn’t said a lot since he found out pretty much everything he’d believed with utmost certainty for the past two years has been a lie. He has let Magnus, Jonas, and Mahdi talk, but they’d quieted down a little while ago, having run out of words and the words they’d had unable to help.

“Yeah,” Jonas agrees, but he sounds hesitant. “Just – don’t get yourself hurt, okay?”

Isak shrugs. “I’m already hurt. I’m going to get hurt when he leaves. There’s no way around it, I just – I need to talk to him. Before he’s gone and I can’t.”

Jonas’ eyes are soft. He smiles at him and nods in agreement, but he looks sad. “Okay.

“But come back out here if he isn’t ready to talk, okay?” Magnus looks worried. “You’ll just hurt each other unnecessarily if the both of you aren’t ready to talk.”

“You can stay with me tonight, if that’s the case,” Jonas promises him. “Or you can have my room and I’ll sleep on the couch, or I can go to Eva’s, if you want to be alone.”

Isak does not want to be alone. He’s been alone for so long, has barely had a chance to not be alone always, _always_.

He thinks he might be ready to see what it’s like not having to be on his own.

Isak still hesitates outside of his door for a little too long to not reveal how nervous he is right now.

It’s been hours since he found out – since he and Even – all the _lies_ – and he’s not certain he’s managed to wrap his head around it fully yet, so he doubts Even has managed to either.

He carefully knocks three times against the door. There’s no reply.

 _Something that is different this time_ , he fitfully forces himself to consider.

This time Even isn’t halfway across the world. This time, Isak knows where he is and he knows he just has to open the door in order to talk to him.

The hallway is dark around Isak, no last remainder of the day’s natural light to brighten it, so he has to blink a couple times when he finally opens up the door and steps inside of his room.

Even’s sitting on his bed, back against the headboard and staring down at the phone in his hands. It’s very reminiscent of the exact same scene Isak had walked in on last night when they’d spent the night together. It doesn’t feel like it was last night, it feels like it happened much longer ago than that.

“Hey,” he clears his throat, leans against the door and tries not to come across as anxious and upset as he feels.

Even doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even look up to acknowledge Isak’s presence. Just stays there, sitting on Isak’s bed and staring at his phone like it holds all the secrets in the world.

It doesn’t, Isak knows, because the only secret that had been kept that was of any importance to Isak has already come out into the open.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Isak tries again. Still with no reply.

He sighs and takes a careful step further into the room. ‘ _Come back out if he isn’t ready to talk_ ,’ Magnus had said, but Isak doesn’t think he’ll ever be brave enough to do this again if he doesn’t do it now, at least not until it’s too late and Even has left the country again for Isak to regret not taking the chance when he could.

 _Something that would’ve been different_ , he thinks. _He and Even wouldn’t be treading this lightly around each other, wouldn’t find it so hard to talk when talking to each other had been what they’d been literally best at_.

He closes the door softly behind him as he moves further in. Even doesn’t object, but that might not mean anything.

“Did you call someone?” he asks, winces when he realizes how that might’ve sounded. He hopes it didn’t come across as an interrogation.

It’s just that Isak has had Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi to sit with him, to let him rant if he’d wanted to do that, to just _be there_ with him, and Isak sincerely hopes that Even hasn’t been completely isolated in Isak’s room, to sit with his own thoughts until he starts to spiral.

Even doesn’t reply.

Maybe he just needs a few seconds. Isak tries to give him that in silence, but standing around and obviously avoiding looking over at Even is awkward as hell, so he moves over to his desk instead.

It’s a mess. He hasn’t cleaned in ages, not since before Even had showed up outside their front door. He’s got schoolwork and pencils and various objects lying in disarray that he slowly, _quietly_ , sets to sorting out.

Until he can’t take it anymore.

“Are you just never going to say anything to me ever again?” Isak huffs bemused, fiddling with his laptop, placing it on the desk so as to not look at Even.

Finally, a reaction.

Even’s head snaps up to look at Isak, and Isak’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach when he sees the expression on Even’s face. He looks angry and hurt and Isak wishes he could’ve just kept his big mouth shut.

But he still doesn’t say anything.

He sits up straight, swings his legs over the edge of the bed so he sits with his back to Isak, and then he gets up and walks over to the window.

The curtains are still drawn, so it’s not like something has caught Even’s attention. It’s just so he can fully avoid having to look at Isak.

Isak squeezes his eyes shut.

 _Something that would’ve been different_ , he thinks. _Even wouldn’t have gotten hurt_.

But when he thinks that thought, he wonders how true it actually is.

Because Isak had been given Even’s ultimatum, in a fucked-up sense of the matter. Essentially, Even had been told he could choose between being married to a _guy_ and getting to make his movies. Even hadn’t gotten to actually make that choice because Isak had ended up making it for him, but what if he had? What if the studio had approached Even first instead of involving Isak in the shadiest way possible – what if they had told _Even_ that it was movies or Isak?

How could that not have hurt him? Finding out that people think that what they had, that their love for each other was so _wrong_ that there was no way Even could be both in love _and_ successful. Not in this universe.

No matter what choice Even would’ve ended up making, it would’ve broken him.

And now that Isak takes his time to really think about it, he’s not sure that what ended up happening wasn’t the right choice.

Not that _how_ it happened wasn’t fucked up, but – Even wouldn’t have gotten the opportunities he did if he’d had Isak hanging onto his elbow. He wouldn’t have gotten to where he is today.

Because Even is a _world-famous movie director_ , and Isak _knows_ that’s what he and the boys have been referring to him as since they first _met each other_ , but it only seems to strike Isak _now_ when Even has spent days sitting on his bed, sipping a lukewarm cup of tea, has slept in his bed, has eaten the meals that Isak had prepared for him and let Isak take care of him when he needed it – essentially everything that they’d done _before_ – _now_ that Even is hurt and pissed off and can’t look Isak in the eye.

Even is a world-famous movie director. He has met A-list celebrities, has told them what to _do_ , does so for a living, has been interviewed by big names and has access to places most people can only _dream_ about getting into. He has _awards_ for his works.

Yet he slots into Isak’s life like he never really left when the fact is he doesn’t belong here in Isak’s dirty room, in Isak’s stupid, inferior life. Isak could never give him his dreams.

Isak wants to _cry_.

Not because this is the first time the thought has crossed his mind. He’d been thinking the exact same thing when the phone calls had started to grow scarce and shorter than ever, but because Isak knows he’ll have to make the same choice today.

Because he still wants this for Even. He still wants for him to make his movies and for him to be loved. Isak still can’t give him that – that isn’t something that has changed.

He’s not certain why he’s even thinking about this. It’s been two years. Isak has no reason to believe Even would be interested in sticking around for his messed-up teenage marriage. Not when he has the _world_ lined up as an alternative.

A thought pops into Isak’s head, intrusive and controversial. He doesn’t know where the voice comes from – probably Jonas, because it sounds like something Jonas might say, or Eskild for that matter.

_Why does one cancel out the other?_

Why would having Isak with him mean that he couldn’t make movies?

Even is already out. The big scandal has already happened. Isak can’t contribute to a further damage of Even’s reputation and career, not unless he royally fucks up, even more so than he’d had when he’d thought Even had chosen the temptation of fame and Hollywood over Isak.

And again, all of this might just be for naught, because there is no guarantee that Even will even want anything to do with Isak after he leaves, when he’s walked out the door and once again the last of Even Isak will see is his back as he walks away from him.

It’s a terrifying thought, but not as terrifying as his next one.

 _Something that is different_ , Isak thinks. _This time, he won’t make the same mistake twice_. He isn’t letting Even go without talking to him first. And if that means he has to talk _at_ him for the time being, then that’s how it’ll be.

“I think I was just waiting for you to leave me.”

Even whirls around at the admission, any signs of residue anger gone from his face that instead portrays utter incredulousness.

He frowns. “You _said_ to go –“

“I know what I said,” Isak interrupts, looks down at his hands because if he looks at Even too long whilst he’s open like this, vulnerable, _exposed_ , giving Even a piece of himself, one of the few remaining pieces that he hasn’t already given and gotten back torn apart, broken and irreparable, he’ll start to cry. “And that’s not what I’m talking about, anyway. Right from the start, when we first met, I think I was waiting for the moment you’d leave.”

Isak chances a look at Even – maybe if he’s quick it won’t set off the waterworks – but what he sees is worse than crying in front of Even.

Even looks _hurt_ , looks at Isak like he’s ripped the ground out from underneath him, like everything he knows has been a _lie_.

He looks like Isak imagines he’d looked when he’d stared at the paperwork asking for his signature to terminate his marriage.

“Then why didn’t _you_ just leave sooner?” Even’s voice cuts through his skin, angry but more so screaming out _hurt-hurt-hurt_.

Isak grimaces as he realizes how what he’d just said sounded like.

“Not like that either, I –“ he makes a frustrated little sound and hides his face away in his hands, taking a moment try and force his lungs to work.

Fuck, this is hard to do. Isak isn’t prepared, had never thought this would be a reality, that he’d ever have to meet Even again, have to look him in the eyes, have to _explain shit_ when _Even_ should be the one to _fucking finally_ give _Isak_ a _goddamn reason_.

“You said ‘ _come_ ’, and I followed,” he says through his hands, the sleeve of his hoodie right in front of his mouth. Isak stares at the slightly darker grey spot from his wet lips when he drops his hands back into his lap. “Because – because you’re _you_ , Even. You’re someone everyone wants to be the attention of, and you looked at _me_ and said ‘ _come_ ’ and so I did. Because I was in love with you, and I tried so hard to always be ready when you’d ask me to come, and –“

His voice cracks embarrassingly. Isak shuts his eyes tightly, goes as far as holding his breath as if that will achieve anything.

It’s quiet in the room. He can’t even hear Even’s breathing, _if_ he’s breathing, and sitting like this on his bed in his room in his shared apartment with his three best friends, all of it feels like a dream. A very bad dream that’s been so drawn out that once he finally wakes up, it’ll feel like he’s been asleep for three days instead of his usual couple of hours. It feels like he’s speaking to the air, that Even isn’t even here, that he can just wake up and everything will go back to normal.

And then he hears the slow intake of a breath from his right, and – right. Not a dream. Even’s still here, is really here, and Isak isn’t asleep.

“I wouldn’t let myself focus on it, back then, because I would’ve gone insane if I’d let myself worry about it, but –“ he exhales slowly, feels his chest hollow out, preparing to be filled with fresh air. “One day, either you were going to forget to look over your shoulder and tell me to come, or you were going to go somewhere I couldn’t follow.”

And, yes, some of the blame was on Isak, because they were two people in the relationship and they’d both fucked up in their own ways.

“I think that might’ve been why it was so easy for them to convince me to sign those papers without talking to you first, because it already felt like that had happened, that I’d gotten left behind.” Isak swallows. He can’t look at Even, not when he’s laying out his soul and heart bare for Even to look at. “And I think I didn’t want to show you how much you still meant to me when it clearly wasn’t reciprocated. I wanted to show you I could do things on my own as well, that I could amount to something, too.”

Getting into university wasn’t exactly on the same scale as becoming a world-famous director, but it had meant something to Isak – not at the time, but nothing had mattered to him back then – it _means_ something to Isak. He’s proud of how far he’s come and he’s proud of studying a science course that he loves.

“I _can_ do it,” Isak says, realizing the truth in the words. “I’ve _been_ doing it. I _can_ live without you.”

 _I just don’t want to_.

“I never thought you couldn’t,” Even tells him softly. “You’re getting an actual degree.”

Isak laughs. It comes out a little wet. “I know.”

“I always thought you were brilliant, that you’d be able to do anything.”

For some reason, it hits him harder than he thought it would’ve. He doesn’t turn around to face Even, can’t stand the thought of Even knowing that his eyes are glossy and throat is thick.

“I thought the same of you,” he tells him instead. “I wanted you to go out there and do what you loved and have everyone see your movies.”

“I know,” Even says this time.

Isak almost smiles, except he really isn’t in the mood to smile. He really, really isn’t.

“And I did get to do that, thanks to you,” Even continues. “I see that now, what you did for me. But the cost –“ he trails off with a frustrated huff.

 _The cost_. That Isak had technically been the one to leave Even in the way it really mattered, even if it hadn’t been of his own doing. It’s such a weird thought, because Isak has spent literal _years_ thinking that _Even_ was the one who left him behind for good.

“I was so angry with you.”

Isak throws the pencil onto the desk. It bounces twice before it rolls off and lands on the floor. He keeps his back to Even.

“So _fucking angry_ with you,” he grouses. “Whenever we talked about the universes where we didn’t work out, it was always _me_ who left. But then _you_ left _me_ , and you didn’t even have the _gall_ to show up yourself to tell me, or call me, or fucking send a _text_.”

His hands are shaking, continues to do so even after he unclenches them, lays them palm flat on the desk.

“I kept going over it,” Isak’s breath hitches as he holds a sob inside. “Over and over, again and again. I just wanted to find the moment when you stopped loving me.”

“Isak –“ Even’s crying. Isak made Even cry.

“It just seemed so sudden, that you’d send you lawyers over with divorce papers. I just kept thinking I must’ve missed the moment when you stopped loving me. I just wanted to find out what I did to make you stop loving me.”

“I promise I didn’t want it,” Even says, throat sounding thick and like he’s actually in pain. “I would’ve told you if I did, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He can’t _not_ look at him anymore.

Isak twists his body at his hips, just enough that he can look over his shoulder at Even.

Even, who is standing in his room, looking devastatingly beautiful and with slightly wet-looking cheeks. He isn’t crying anymore, at least. Isak doesn’t know how he would’ve been able to handle that.

“Looking back, I probably should’ve realized that something was off about how much effort they were putting into convincing me that signing was the best course of action. But they couldn’t dictate how I felt,” his expression settling into a firm grimace that Isak recognizes from years and years ago, when Even had still been angry about the diagnosis and resentful of how it had made people start to treat him like a porcelain doll.

 _Only you can feel what you’re feeling_ , Isak remembers telling him.

“Then why did you never come out?” Isak’s voice cracks over the words.

Even shakes his head and shrugs helplessly. “I thought about it,” he finally tells him. “I did,” he insists, when Isak huffs in annoyance at the lack of an answer, “it just – it didn’t seem worth it to me.”

Even looks at where Isak’s curtains are still drawn, despite it being in the middle of the afternoon and the sun is shining in, trying to pass the fabric blocking its way.

“There wasn’t anyone to come out _for_ ,” Even shrugs again and Isak’s heart lurches. _He_ hadn’t been there. “It just didn’t seem worth it. Maybe I would’ve done it eventually, if I met someone or I just didn’t want it to be a secret anymore,“ Even leaves it hanging in the air.

Isak flushes. “What about Sonja?”

Even’s nose wrinkles. “ _Sonja_? Seriøst?”

“Well, what the hell do I know?” Isak asks, tone rising defensively as he draws back. His cheeks are burning. “Maybe – I’m not exactly in a position to fault you for finding someone else, am I?”

He means it rhetorically, but the way Even’s expression falls says something all by itself.

“Sonja and I were never a thing,” Even tells him instead, words stilted and said through gritted teeth. “It was all just bullshit for the rumor mill. That and a way for them to have a _babysitter_ following me around, making sure I didn’t get myself into trouble.”

‘ _Trouble_ ’ could mean a lot of things. The look Even gives him reveals that it wasn’t necessarily just to ensure he didn’t get near any other boys when they’d actually finagled getting him away from Isak.

As if Hollywood being homophobic wasn’t bad enough.

Maybe it reveals too much, because Even turns his back on him after that, staring at Isak’s curtains once again.

“I’m sorry,” Isak tells him, knowing it doesn’t help, but he doesn’t know what can. Other than a time machine, but Isak doubts that wouldn’t create new problems all on its own.

Even shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” It doesn’t feel like he’s only talking about Isak hurting because of the way they’d hurt Even. It feels like a lot more, and Isak’s heart drops into his stomach. He’s not even sure if it’s from guilt or relief.

“It wasn’t yours either.”

It feels good to say. It feels really good to say. It feels good to hear and it feels good to say. Especially when it’s been years since Isak hasn’t been angry with at least one of the two people in this room, it feels good to let some of it go.

It leaves Isak’s guards down, the ones he’s spent his entire life building, the ones he’d never really been all that great at keeping up when he was around Even.

“I didn’t sign them.”

Isak stops mid-motion, head snapping to the right to look at Even who still _hasn’t moved_ so he can only see the back of him. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to sign them without talking to you first. I kept trying to book a plane ticket home, over and over, none of them went through.” Even shakes his head minutely. “I wasn’t going to let you go without talking to you first, no matter what they kept trying to tell me.”

Something whooshes out of Isak – relief? Tension definitely settles in, because Isak has gone ages thinking he’s been divorced when the truth is, he’s still married to this day. Has been all of this time.

God, he’s _married_.

And then the guilt settles in tenfold, because that’s what Isak had done. Isak had let them talk him into signing those goddamn papers, all because they’d played on the fears he’d thought he’d hidden away deep inside of himself.

“I didn’t understand,” Even’s voice is thick. “But then when I thought back, I couldn’t remember the last time we spoke. Like –“ he shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut. “Like, _actually_ talked. I couldn’t remember the last time you told me something about your day, about what you were doing.”

Because Even had been out, living it up with Hollywood stars and his dream job, and Isak had been stuck back in same old Oslo.

“It just – it didn’t seem important,” Isak shrugs. “Compared to what you were doing, I was just… doing the same old shit as always. I just kept thinking that you’d be home in a couple of weeks and then I’d tell you everything you’d missed, but then…”

 _But then you never came home_.

“But it was also, like,” Even makes a frustrated noise as he tries to articulate himself. “I didn’t even know that you’d applied to university. I didn’t even remember that that was a thing that was supposed to happen. I’d just gotten so caught up in my own shit that I forgot to talk to you about those things, and I just thought, _well, shit, no wonder he’s gotten tired of you_.”

Isak’s heart _hurts_. He’s tired of hurting, and he’s even more tired of hurting unnecessarily – not that Even getting to where he is today wasn’t worth any amount of pain Isak has had to go through. And it’s not like this is going to be the last of it – this is just the start of a new kind of pain, one that Isak is going to have to live with for the rest of his life once Even has left.

“By the time I was finally back in Oslo, the apartment was empty, and you still weren’t answering my calls. I didn’t know where you were – I was so desperate. I nearly showed up knocking on Eskild’s door frantically to find out where you were.” Even finally turns back around so Isak can look at him. “I couldn’t do that to you, though. I wanted to, so badly, and I hated myself for not doing it, but I would’ve been disgusted with myself if I had done it, if I had taken that away from you.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to help you, anyway,” Isak says so he won’t think about how big a sacrifice that had really been for Even to make. He won’t be able to keep from crying if he starts to think about it.

Even makes an inquisitive noise.

“I, uh –“ Isak hesitates. “I couldn’t exactly – he would’ve known that something was wrong, and I couldn’t exactly explain what it was.” He shrugs, doesn’t mention if it was because of his own choice or because of the metaphorical gag he’d been bound with. “So I just – I didn’t really talk to him all that much.” _Barely anything at all_ , as little as he could get away with – or even less than that, really, considering it was _Eskild_ they were talking about.

“See, that –“ Even takes a step towards him, “– _that_ is exactly what was wrong, why we were doomed from the start.”

Isak can’t tell if his heart is in his throat or has dropped to his stomach. A cold sweat breaks out down his back, and he almost feels petrified at the thought of Even thinking that about them. _Doomed_.

“Because I didn’t talk to Eskild?”

“Because all we ever did was keep secrets,” Even corrects, eyes a little watery. “And it meant you couldn’t talk to anyone, that you couldn’t get help when you needed it.”

“You couldn’t either,” Isak reminds him, because it wasn’t only him who hadn’t wanted to say anything. “You couldn’t tell anyone either.”

“Keeping secrets did nothing good for us,” Even frowns, and Isak hates it because the shadows are _safe_ , lying has been _safe_ , but he agrees with Even. “It just made us so insecure about ourselves and each other.”

“Are you going to ask me for a divorce after this?” Isak asks. He doesn’t like how tiny his voice is, but he doesn’t have the strength to change it. “A real one this time?”

Even’s eyes go impossibly soft. He looks sad. “No. I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to do that.”

Isak swallows past the lump in his throat. “We haven’t seen each other in two years. You can’t _not_ want a divorce.”

“I don’t want a divorce. I never did.”

“How can you not, though?”

“I just don’t. Isak – I broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress you,” Even reminds him. Isak’s laugh bubbles out of him, wet and a bit disgusting because he’s crying. He doesn’t remember starting to cry. “I don’t want a divorce.”

“You’ve done fine without me,” Isak points out. “And I’ve managed alright as well.”

“I know,” Even agrees. “That’s not why I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want a divorce because you make my life better, and you make me want to be good, and I want to do that for you too. If you’ll let me.”

The tips of Even’s toes bump against Isak’s. He doesn’t remember moving or Even moving, but he figures they’ll always be gravitating towards each other.

Even’s gaze is heavy on him, and it makes Isak feel flushed and not wanting to look Even in the eye, but finding himself unable to look away either. A hiccupy-sob spills out of his mouth.

Even cups Isak’s face in one hand, sweeping his thumb gently over his cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “You beautiful, brave boy. I can’t believe there was ever a second where you doubted you weren’t wanted, that I wouldn’t choose you.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t choose _you_ ,” Isak told him, leaning into his touch, and making a desperate, choked-up noise. “ _Faen_ , Even, I was practically hanging on to your sleeve every turn you made. So in love, I’m so in –“ he cuts himself off.

“Do you still –“ Even bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling, a pure look of _anguish_ and _pain_ on his face as he carefully glances at Isak.

 _I am so in love with you_ , Isak wants to scream. _Always, always, always love you_. “Never stopped,” he promises instead, takes a step closer to Even and waits for him to do the same, until the tips of their toes bump together and Isak’s right knee brushes Even’s.

He sees the second the rest of Even’s guards crumble down, leaves him vulnerable and with the same affection and hurt that Isak is sure he’s wearing on his face shining out of his eyes.

“Did –“ Isak has to wet his lips and clear his throat when you voice cracks. “Did you –?”

_Did you stop? Did you stop loving me? Did you fall out of love with me?_

Isak can’t breathe. He’s just standing there, holding his breath, _waiting_ for Even to say something, as if he’s about to cast the verdict of Isak’s sentence.

Even shakes his head, his bottom lip is quivering. All of the air inside of Isak whooshes out, his next inhale goes smoothly. For the first time in so, so long, breathing doesn’t feel like an impossible chore.

“If I asked you –” Even pauses, licking his lips. “Would you want – can we – is it even a possibility – _please_ –“

Nothing that Even is saying is coming out cohesively, so Isak gathers all of his courage and closes the gap between them, his nose pressing against Even’s cheek, his jaw, until he feels Even let out a relieved breath and attempt one more time.

“Would it be too much if I asked you,” he starts, his voice shaking, “if you would like to try again? With me? What would you say?”

Isak presses his nose a little harder against Even’s jaw before he pulls back, just far enough that he can look Even in the eye.

“Ask me,” he demands.

“Isak,” Even sounds like he’s lost his breath, so Isak presses his face against the palm Even’s still holding against his cheek. “ _Please_. Can we try again? With no secrets this time and never no talking to each other. Just – _Isak_ –“

Isak is nodding frantically. It makes him realize he’s crying, because he feels the wetness against Even’s hand when it moves from the top of his cheekbone down next to his mouth.

Even is so close Isak can feel his breath hitting his lips, can feel just the tiniest touch of Even’s lips near his own. They’re not kissing, they’re not, but even just this, this _closeness_ is enough to make Isak’s toes curl in the best of ways.

“We’ll do it right this time,” Even whispers into his mouth. A tear rolls down Isak’s face. “Come out. Or – we’re pretty much already out. But tell people ourselves. Not just let them know from a stupid article.”

Isak nods, the movement dislodges his mouth from Even’s, but they’re both breathing too harshly to comment on it. “We’re going to do it right,” he agrees.

**_ Past _ **

Even’s first movie gets released around Christmas time for no other reason than it’s a romantic movie. It’s late November, cold as fuck and Isak seems to be sniffling himself through one cold into the next whilst Even gets the wide release he’d always dreamt about.

Isak promises himself that he won’t buy a ticket to go see it. He refuses to spend any more money on Even and his stupid, _stupid_ movies.

He does, however, end up illegally streaming it that night instead. The quality is horrible and several times he can’t make out the dialogue or the screen, but it doesn’t really matter because he recognizes the plot.

Or, what was _supposed_ to be the plot, because Isak remembers Even writing this movie.

He remembers long summer nights where he’d dose off and come back to Even sitting beside him in bed, laptop open and fingers scrambling over the keys before he lost his inspiration or forgot the perfect lines and directions he’d made up in his head. He remembers watching Even; how happy he’d been watching his story come together and Isak _loved_ hearing about the next part Even had come up with, even if it was difficult to keep track of, because Even never thought in linear patterns. Most of the time Isak would know the ending before the beginning.

Once Even was done, though, he’d tell Isak the story chronologically. He’d pull Isak in close to his side and he’d talk and talk, treating the ceiling like his canvas, painting out a story for no one but Isak, lying safe and warm and happy in his arms. And Isak would listen, and then he’d listen some more, because he loves – _loved_ , Even like this, in his element.

Isak remembers the movie was supposed to be about two girls, but it’s clear it’s now about a boy and a girl, and it’s not like Isak is angry about movies portraying heterosexual couples, but Even had had entire themes and scenes and messages he’d wanted to send with two girls and all Isak sees are the things the movie lacks rather than what it does manage to do.

He watches the entire movie and then digs out the emergency bottle of vodka he hides in his sock drawer.

Most of it is gone by morning.

OOOOO

Another thing about remembering things like that is that Isak remembers the final ending ‘ _Save You Right Back_ ’ was supposed to have – the last thing the movie would show, right at the end of the credits where no one would think to look.

 _Takk, Isak_.

That’s it. Two words. Even had spoken for ages about those two words, no matter how many times Isak told him that it wasn’t necessary, Even had insisted. Because he wouldn’t be in America living his dream if it weren’t for Isak convincing him to go. He wouldn’t have written the movie if he hadn’t had Isak there to rant and rave to, to encourage him to keep writing when nothing came to mind, and to be his muse that would keep him going for hours upon hours.

Now Isak knows that Even wouldn’t have hesitated in the first place to go to America if Isak hadn’t been a part of his life. He knows that Even would’ve kept closer to his friends if he hadn’t had Isak – all of the boys, probably especially Yousef, would’ve been encouraging. And the movie would’ve been written, with or without Isak there to inspire Even – something else would’ve done the job; a song, a stray thought, another person Even would’ve actually stayed with.

The two words aren’t there when Isak checks three days later.

Just another thing that got cut, Isak thinks bitterly, slamming his laptop shut.

OOOOO

Something Isak hadn’t planned on was _other people also_ watching Even’s movie.

Which is silly, really, and it makes Isak feel like an idiot, because Even had literally traded him for the chance of having people see this movie.

But Even had spent nearly a year just writing the script and the directions and camera angles when the entire project had been nothing but a fantasy for the future, not something they’d believed would come to life any time soon. And Isak had just gotten used to ‘ _Save You Right Back_ ’ was a movie only he and Even knew about.

Something Isak _had_ planned on was other people _loving_ Even’s movie.

Isak is _furious_ with Even, yes, and so fucking resentful and _angry_ , but there’s no doubting that Even is brilliant at what he does – he always had been. And although Isak knows the _real_ story behind the movie, it’s not like the finished project – altered as it is from the original storyline Even had told Isak about – is a _bad movie_. Anyone who doesn’t know what it was supposed to be like wouldn’t know any better, wouldn’t stumble over the thought in the slightest.

So the fact that critics like the movie? That the public does as well? That Even’s movie actually _trends_ and then _Even_ starts to trend? Not exactly a surprise to Isak.

Something Isak definitely hadn’t planned on was _Magnus_ being one of those people who are practically _obsessed_ with Even’s movie.

Which turns into an obsession with _Even_.

There isn’t a lot of Even’s work out there on the internet – mainly because ‘ _Save You Right Back_ ’ is his first actually contracted work, but there’s a rather limited amount anything self-produced or from his time at film school out there, easily accessible for people to watch.

And thus, when there’s nothing else for people to focus on, they start to look at _Even_.

It’s not like Isak doesn’t know Even, knows the effect he has on people. Even is brilliant and he’s captivating and he’s charming and he’s just about every other description for the feeling of being drawn into somebody’s orbit.

Isak is angry with him, but he can’t exactly deny these things about him. Not when he firsthand knows just how true they really are.

But it’s still _something else_ when _other people_ start to report on how Even is like. When small tidbits about him start to get published – either by fans who’ve met him or by the odd journalist writing an article about the _up-and-coming director in the business_ – it feels like a piece of Isak’s soul leaves his body and he’s not sure why.

So he stops looking up Even on the internet. Period.

Except Magnus then apparently elects himself to function as a newsmonger so none of them miss out on anything Even-related.

“Did you know they’ve signed Even on to do another project?”

 _Good, wouldn’t want their fucking divorce to be wasted, would they_?

“Did you know he’s due to release a short film in January?”

 _Hopefully he works himself to the bone_.

“The symbolism with the blue tie was so well planned out! That was apparently one of the first things he came up with when he started writing the story.”

 _The symbolism had actually made sense when the movie had been about two girls_. _Don’t think about how Even came up with it – don’t think about stupid poems and love declarations_.

“Seriously, people have said it’s like he just comes up with it _on the spot_ – how amazing is that?”

 _He never was much of a planner_.

For every little piece of information Magnus tries to share with _literally anyone who will listen_ , Isak feels the anger growing inside of him. Knows how much he has to drink to get it down to a manageable level again, and then promptly forgets because of just how much alcohol it takes to get him to that level.

This is what Even wanted, he reminds himself. He wanted his movies and fans and articles written about him. He didn’t want _you_.

Isak is always careful not to look up Even _too_ much. It always sends him spiraling, and he always ends up the same place; in a bar, in a club or at the bottom of a bottle. Usually whatever has the highest alcohol percentage he can get his hands on, but he isn’t picky so long as it’ll get him drunk and get him there _fast_.

So it’s an accident when he sees the first picture of Even and Sonja.

At least he didn’t find out through Magnus, he tries to comfort himself as he lies in bed, staring at the screen of his phone. The brightness is turned up too high for the time of the day and the darkness in the rest of his room, but Isak feels positively frozen in place.

They’re official pictures, taken at some premier – Isak doesn’t think it’s Even’s own, because the fanfare that’s happening seems too excessive a reception for a first-time director who’d managed to gather a small internet following.

And then more pictures keep popping up.

Sonja and Even at a coffee shop.

Sonja and Even walking down Hollywood Boulevard.

 _Sonja and Even_ , _Sonja and Even_ , until Isak is ready to _rip_ his own hair out by the roots.

It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Isak reminds himself. He knows Even’s management team had already been talking about this when he and Even had still been okay – or when Isak had thought that they were still okay, but what the _fuck_ does he know, really – the publicity Even could get from hanging out with the right person at the right time.

But this isn’t a celebrity. Sonja doesn’t have anything she needs to promote, so Isak can’t think of any agreements that would be mutually beneficial for her and Even.

And it only gets worse when Isak’s fears get picked up on by strangers on the internet. Suddenly _#Evnja_ starts trending, and then the articles start popping up with additional pictures.

_Sonja and Even cozying up on their date! Even brings Sonja with him to a premier! Sonja and Even walking a dog! Are they, aren’t they, surely they must be!_

And then Isak gets to hear it all over again from _Magnus_ who seemingly can’t _shut up_ about _anything Even_ , which now apparently means _Sonja and Even_ , and Isak –

Isak doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He’s angry, he’s so fucking _angry_ he’s _buzzing_ with it – angry because Even asked him for a divorce just to immediately go flaunt some _girl_ on his arm. Angry because Even is alright, is moving on, and Isak feels so fucking _stuck_ in this sickening despair and shame and _rage_ and completely unable to let go of the past, any of it.

 _No more_ , he decides, shutting his phone off and leaving it behind. He’s got a stash of tiny bottles hidden underneath his bed that he brings out, downing three in a row before he has to pause for a breath.

“Isak!” Magnus calls out when Isak leaves his room, jacket already haphazardly pulled on and heading towards the front door. “My man! Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Awesome!” Magnus lights up. “Got anything in mind? We were just about to come get you to see if you wanted to head over to –“

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Isak interrupts. He can’t stand still, too buzzed and body vibrating from too many emotions all mixed together, and Magnus just isn’t talking fast enough for Isak.

Even the _blinking_ that he does at being interrupted is too slow-going for Isak. So he toes on his shoes and shouts for the boys to _hurry the fuck up!_

He takes two trips up and down the stairs before Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are ready. Mahdi looks peeved, but he doesn’t say anything to Isak about it, so Isak treads ahead to get the boys to move _quicker_.

Maybe tagging along had been a bad idea, he thinks when Magnus yet _again_ has to stop in the middle of the street to talk about something of _great importance_ that really doesn’t matter.

Turns out tagging along is a _great_ idea when Isak realizes they’re headed to a club only known by _word around town_. Magnus knows a guy who works there, apparently, and could get them in tonight.

Isak isn’t particularly interested in the club itself; it’s much like any other club; dark and with the occasional strobe lights, loud music and sweaty crowd of people – as much as he cares about the _possibilities_ in this club.

As it currently stands, there are _a lot_ of possibilities in this club.

It’s dark, so finding a hidden corner will be easy, and it also means it’ll be more difficult for people to recognize him. Isak hasn’t exactly made up his mind whether he wants to try getting with a girl or a boy – he can’t imagine enjoying _anything_ with a girl, and the enjoyment is part of this entire _thing_. There’s no point in showing Even that he too can go out and have fun if he isn’t really having fun, after all.

He figures he’ll probably just see how the evening goes. Having the boys here could complicate things, because no way in _hell_ is Isak letting _any_ of them even _suspect_ that something is amiss with him, but with their previous track record of disappearing to find hookup partners once they’ve gotten a few drinks in, Isak isn’t _too_ worried.

He can’t breathe and he can’t get his hands to stop shaking, but he’s not _too_ worried.

“Hey!” Magnus shouts in his ear to get his attention. “What do you want?” he nods towards the bar.

“I’ll come with you,” Isak tells him, because the sooner he gets away from the boys, the better, and he also needs to get a vantage point to see who is here tonight.

The bar is bustling, and it takes ages before he and Magnus get close enough to order, and then approximately another decade before the bartender notices them. Isak orders two drinks at once, because if it’s this difficult to get one, he probably won’t be able to refill until later. That, and he _fucking needs it_ right now.

It makes Magnus frown, though. “You alright?”

“I’m fucking great,” Isak tells him, trying to smile, but he thinks he just pulls a grimace instead. Whatever.

Magnus’ frown deepens, however, so Isak hurries to back away from the bar, pushing against the stream of people trying to get close, and leaves Magnus to scramble with three drinks.

He knocks back the first drink, leaves the glass on behind on some decorative pedestal that other people have also deemed worthy for the same purpose.

“Starting without us?” Jonas laughs, popping out of nowhere.

Mahdi’s looking at him cautiously, not saying anything, and Isak can’t stand the sight of it so he knocks the other drink back as well.

“Catch up, slowpoke,” he grins to Jonas, clapping him on the shoulder before drawing back so Jonas can grab his drink off of Magnus. He hopes he doesn’t look as fake as he feels.

“Not like you to give us the chance,” Mahdi comments, but he throws back his own drink as well, so what room does he have to talk.

Isak’s nose wrinkles in disdain, but he doesn’t reply. He kind of considers making his way back to the bar already – it’ll be hell, but the fire in his throat is already burning out and he still feels too stuck in his head for him to be able to accomplish his mission for the night.

He feels antsy, and he has a lot of residual anger still swirling around in his body that he’s forcing himself _not to think about_.

“You sure you’re alright?” Jonas asks him, and Isak wants to _scream_.

“Lot of homework,” he says instead, because he’s sick and tired of being asked _if he’s_ _okay_ when he’s clearly _fine_ , but they won’t stop unless he gives them an explanation.

Isak pointedly does not think about how goddamn unable he is to give the real explanation.

He ignores Mahdi’s bemused huff.

Anyway, it doesn’t take a lot before the boys’ attentions are off him and on literally anything else. Isak counts his blessings, however small they may come, and gets to crowd surfing as well – doesn’t matter that he’s looking for something else than Mahdi and Magnus are, and technically Jonas as well, but his is more of a ‘ _look, don’t touch_ ’ situation, considering he’s got Eva, and all that.

Nothing strikes his fancy particularly, but he tries not to feel too discouraged. It’s dark and it’s difficult to make out anyone in this thick of a crowd. It doesn’t mean that there’s no one there for Isak, no one he’ll be interested in.

Once they’re all dispersed, Isak heads back to the bar. Doesn’t spend as long waiting this time, which is a surprise. He orders three drinks this time.

“Coming right up,” the bartender tells him.

“I’ll have one of those, too,” someone from behind Isak says – a guy, voice so deep and so _close_ that for a second all Isak can think is _Even_ , and he whirls around and –

Except it’s not Even. It’s some other guy who gives Isak a weird look for his sudden movement.

A guy who doesn’t even _look_ anything like Even, resembles Magnus a lot more, if Isak is honest – the typical, Norwegian stereotype of blond hair and height. He’s taller than Isak is.

He looks at Isak oddly for how startled he was. Isak hurries to turn back around, cheeks burning.

There are three glasses waiting for him when he opens his eyes again. He downs the shot whilst still at the bar, slamming the glass down on the counter, and then gathers the two other glasses.

He’s starting to feel the effects a little better now, his head not quite swimming yet, but it’s easier not to think, and it’s easier to ignore how it feels like his heart is stuck inside a cage yet falling apart right then and there.

He just needs a distraction. He needs to do this.

Isak sips at his fourth drink at this club, whatever number this night in total, and scans the crowd. It hasn’t gotten easier to see in the past ten minutes, and Isak figures it’ll only get worse the later it gets.

A girl saunters up to him, grabbing onto where his hoodie is zipped open, and tries to tug him towards the dance floor.

She’s pretty, and if any of the boys had been within eyesight, Isak would’ve followed her. They aren’t, though, and Isak isn’t here for them, and he isn’t here for her. He holds up the two drinks instead, makes it seem like he’s heading over to someone with the other one. The girl shrugs, but she looks disappointed as she walks away. Isak can’t even feel any comfort in the reassurance that he isn’t totally unwanted by everyone around him.

It would be easier, he thinks, if he could just make himself want her, if he could just make himself not want guys.

He moves to a different part of the club just in case the girl decides to double back and he’s still standing there, clearly not heading anywhere, just uninterested. He makes sure to keep an eye out for any familiar faces – no point doing this if it just means people will live to remind him of it, that they’ll _know_. Isak can’t, he _can’t_ have anyone know.

It’s bad enough that after tonight, someone will know, because Isak will have kissed someone, someone who isn’t Even. Which will be fucking _great_ and exactly what Isak needs. He just needs to find someone and everything will be perfect.

He discards the second glass once he’s drained it, still has one remaining. His heart is thumping uncomfortably in his chest as he tries to pace himself. It’s not easy. None of this is easy, and Isak hates it because it _should be_.

“Hey,” someone, the guy from the bar, Isak realizes. “Nice night,” the guy comments, taking a sip from his own drink.

Isak’s heart is still beating a little too fast from the scare, but he’s downed too many drinks to really feel it. “Is it?”

The guy blinks at Isak’s odd reply, then shrugs and accepts it. “Guess it depends on a lot of things. Do you want me to make it better?”

 _Yes_ , Isak thinks, because it would be so much easier to just lay himself into the hands of another person and then let them fix everything. He can’t do that, though, but he can do _this_. He _can_ show Even that _two_ _can play this game_.

“Guess it depends on a lot of things,” Isak teases smoothly, feeling anything but. His palms are sweaty. “What are you offering?”

He grins and tugs at Isak’s hoodie, just like the girl had earlier, but instead of pulling him towards the crowd, the guy moves them away, moves them closer to the dark corners which stills Isak’s panic a bit, at least.

The guy leaves his drink behind once they get closer to the wall, which is such a stupid move, Isak can’t believe he’s probably about to kiss someone that stupid. Isak makes sure to down his own drink before he leaves the glass behind.

The guy quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps pushing and pushing until Isak feels the wall bump against his back.

He hates this. He doesn’t like it at all, he finds, but he forces through it. He just needs to try it, then he’ll find out how great it is – Isak _likes_ kissing, he knows that much at least, so this shouldn’t be any different from everything he’s already done. He’s not a goddamn _virgin_ , he isn’t inexperienced. There’s nothing new about this. There isn’t.

Isak twists until his side is pressed against the wall instead of his back. It means the guy has to switch too, but he also doesn’t say anything about that, doesn’t pull a face, either. He just leans against the wall as well, mirroring Isak’s position.

Isak lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

The guy pushes at his hip to get his attention back on him. “You want to head to the bathroom?”

Isak frowns. No, no he does not want to go to the bathroom. For any reason.

The guy must be able to see it on his face despite the crappy lighting. He laughs, doesn’t look mean about it. “You ever done this before?”

 _Which part?_ Isak doesn’t ask. The part where he’s kissing guys, or the part where they’re in public, or the part about being offered casual sex by a stranger? It’s pretty much no to all of them, anyway.

Fuck.

Isak isn’t about to let this stranger know anything about that, though. Can’t exactly tell him about all the things that he’s done already, either, so he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Have you?”

Which is stupid, because this guy _clearly_ does this often. His hands are cold through the fabric of Isak’s t-shirt whilst Isak feels like an actual mess.

 _Stop this! You’re married!_ his heart screams at him.

 _You’re not_ , his brain reminds him. _You’re not, you’re not, you’re not_.

Isak isn’t. He isn’t fucking married anymore, and if Even can go out there and kiss other people, can kiss _Sonja_ , then so can Isak. Kiss other people, that is. He can kiss this guy all he fucking wants to – he just has to ignore how he doesn’t _fucking want to_ kiss anyone.

The bass is so fucking loud, the constant _dun dun dun_ pounding in Isak’s head. He feels dizzy and he feels _wrong_ and he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking _breathe_.

The guy’s cologne is all wrong – it’s too strong and smells too much like chemicals. His body is too close, Isak feels cramped up against the wall unpleasantly.

Isak sidesteps when the guy reaches out for his collar, barely registers anything that he’s doing, just knows that he needs to get away, get away, _get away_.

“What the fuck –“ he thinks he hears from behind, but Isak doesn’t turn around to check, to apologize, to explain. He pushes forward, tries to get through the crowd.

God, he’s sweating and the feeling of bodies pressing against him is nauseating – he feels crowded, feels simultaneously too small for the world but too large for his body, it feels like his skin is about to peel off.

“Isak?” he hears when he’s grabbing his jacket, pulling it on.

Fuck, the boys. He doesn’t bother checking who’s talking to him, but they’re all there, he can see them.

“ _Hva skjer_?”

“I’m leaving,” he replies, not sure to who, just pushing away from the door to _get out_.

“Hey, man,” Jonas tries to catch a hold of Isak’s elbow, but he misses, “you alright?”

“Just let him go,” Mahdi grabs on to Jonas’ sleeve and holds him back. “He needs to go do _homework_.”

Isak doesn’t know how it happens, can’t recall it later. All he knows is the anger inside of him, rising until it’s blowing over, and suddenly he’s next to the boys again, but Mahdi’s back is flushed to the wall and he’s looking a mix of confused and furious. Then there are hands tugging at Isak’s jacket, pulling him back.

“What the fuck?” he thinks he hears Jonas yells. It snaps him out of whatever weird fugue-state he’d slipped into.

He stares at Jonas, eyes wide and startled. Did he really just…

“What’s going on with you?” Jonas’ eyes are wild. He’s looking at Isak like he’s stranger.

And all Isak can think about is how he nearly kissed someone tonight. Someone who wasn’t Even, just because Even is fine and out kissing other people. He can’t even think about how he just pushed Mahdi – _Mahdi_. He can’t think about anything.

Fuck. Isak doesn’t even recognize himself anymore.

“What the fuck just happened?” Magnus asks.

“I was just kidding,” Mahdi protests, but Isak barely hears it, is already moving, throwing himself bodily at the doors to get out, get out, get _out_. “What the fuck is his problem?”

He doesn’t get further than fifty feet away from the club before he stumbles. He feels startlingly sober, but he knows he isn’t. He’s drunk, he’s fucking drunk again, and the world is spinning and he feels nauseous, like he’s going to be sick, because he never learns to not drink on an empty stomach.

OOOOO

“How’d I get here?” Isak slurs. His eyes are crusty and it hurts to open them. Everything about him feels like that, like he’s too heavy to maneuver around. “I was out.”

“Yeah,” Jonas laughs humorlessly. “And then I brought you home.”

Isak groans. “Why’d you do that? I was having _fun_ ,” he drags out the vowel, tries to shake his body to imitate a dance move he can’t remember if he was doing last night, but that just makes him dizzy and feeling like he’s about to throw up.

Jonas snorts. “Sure, yeah.”

Blinking hurts. Swallowing hurts. Existing hurts, but that’s nothing new.

Then again, this is probably a repeated enough occurrence that _none of this_ is particularly new.

Isak groans again and shoves his face into his pillow.

He can’t really remember a lot from last night, thinks he went out, but he doesn’t remember where to or with who. He probably went alone – after that disastrous night out where he’d tried to – where he’d ended up getting violent and pushing Mahdi, he’s made it a point to avoid everyone around him as much as possible.

Isak isn’t sure if it’s a good thing or not just how easy it is to pull off something like that. Good thing, probably, he realizes. Less people around to ask questions.

Which means Isak isn’t sure why Jonas is in his room. He doesn’t remember meeting up with Jonas, which would’ve happened if Jonas was the one to get him back safely.

“Isak.”

Isak doesn’t react to Jonas’ attempts to get his attention. Not until a hand grabs onto a chunk of his hair and gently pushes his face away from the pillow.

The light hurts his eyes and it isn’t any easier to breathe when his nose isn’t being squashed.

“Isak,” Jonas doesn’t let him look away. “Are you okay?”

“’f course,” Isak sniffs, tries to focus on anything besides Jonas. “The hell do you mean?”

Jonas huffs, steps back from the bed. Isak doesn’t even remember to shove his face back into the pillow, he feels frozen.

“This isn’t normal. You drinking like that, it’s not – I don’t think you’re okay.”

Isak’s throat feels tight.

“It’s just uni,” he protests. “We’re young and stupid and partying and getting drunk. That’s all it is. All of you are doing it too!”

Jonas’ eyes are soft and gentle and Isak doesn’t deserve him, doesn’t know what to do with any of that other than _panic_.

“Not like you are,” Jonas states, because it’s not an argument, it’s a fact. No one else is going as hard at it as Isak is. “What you’re doing – Christ, man, you’re going to put yourself in an early grave.”

 _Good_ , a spiteful part of Isak thinks, the one he doesn’t ever let out because it frightens him too much.

“Just – you can talk to me, if there is something, you know that, right? You can come talk to me.”

Isak pointedly does not think of stacks of papers and horrible, _horrible_ words written on them along with his signature, ensuring that _talking_ is one of the last things he’ll do. He doesn’t. He’ll be sick if he does, and if he remembers anything from last night it’s that he’s already been sick more than enough. He’ll need to get some fluids in his system unless he really does want to put himself in an early grave.

He doesn’t think of how Even would’ve loved this as a reasoning why his ‘ _epic endings_ ’ were so necessary – that you should get to lose something whilst it was still good, before it had gotten ruined by life.

He doesn’t think of Even kissing Sonja, even if there aren’t any pictures of it yet he can still imagine it clearly. He doesn’t think of how he wasn’t able to kiss anyone. He doesn’t think of changed plots and characters and a lack of a _thank you_ note.

He’s just – he’s so fucking confused, alright.

OOOOO

He just gets even _more_ confused when Even releases a short film called “ _The Boy who Couldn’t Jump Down from a Fence_ ” because _what_? What kind of game is Even playing, what the _fuck_ is this supposed to be, and _why_ the fuck would he do it if he’s got _Sonja_ now?

Isak is _fuming_ , doesn’t pay attention when he marches into the shared kitchen, doesn’t see _Magnus_ sitting at the table, tapping away on his laptop. All Isak sees is the kitchen counter, the sink full of dishes, and the empty pizza box left by someone.

He throws open one of the cupboards, not even sure what he’s looking for – _booze_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully because they don’t keep any alcohol in here, unless it needs to be refrigerated, but the others will have his ass for _years_ to come if he messes with someone else’s alcohol. Which is _dumb_ , because it’s not like any of them are still underage and getting their hands on anything alcoholic is a hassle.

Isak’s own supply has run dry, though, and he’s _itching_ for something, _anything_. He needs to get out of his own head, and alcohol is the only way he’s found so far that’s made it a possibility.

“Isak, hey!” Magnus calls out brightly, dropping his backpack by his feet. Girl-with-bioscience-boyfriend will have his head for that, Isak knows, because she’d tried to have his when he’d done the same.

She hasn’t attempted it since, but Isak can’t imagine Magnus being as big of an asshole as Isak had been.

“Dude, _greatest news_ ever, seriously,” Magnus doesn’t bother pausing for a breath. “So remember how I told you about my scene composition class? Well, so today –“

And Isak tunes out. He doesn’t remember Magnus telling him about that particular course, but that’s not the main reason why Isak stops listening.

Isak stops listening because Magnus is a media student who doesn’t know when to shut up.

Well, he doesn’t know when to shut up, _period_ , but it becomes Isak’s problem when he changes between his two favorite topics; girls and movies, particularly the technicalities of movies.

Isak has already had one person in his life who couldn’t shut up about the goddamn technicalities of movies, and Magnus isn’t like Even at all, it’s not that he reminds Isak of Even.

It’s that he’s _constantly bringing up Even_ that’s becoming Isak’s problem.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he hears Magnus say _his_ name out loud – nothing pretty, he knows that much, but he isn’t interested in finding out what. He feels too fucking numb all of the time, that or like a bruise that’s being cut into _constantly_ , but after that night at the club where he’d snuck away from the boys, that night where he’d _attacked Mahdi_ , Isak has sort of been scared of himself. Of how far he’ll end up going before he can’t turn back anymore.

And then the numbness takes over and the cycle continues.

Isak isn’t numb right now. Right now there’s too much anger inside of him for him to be anything that resembles _numb_.

Magnus is still talking, and Isak is scared to start paying attention, just in case.

Isak does _not_ want to hear about Even’s film, but he also doesn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. He doesn’t want to walk down the dark streets of Oslo, bar-crawling his way through the city until he can’t tell up from down all by himself.

“Is anything going on tonight?” he interrupts whatever Magnus had been talking about.

Magnus looks as clueless as ever – big puppy eyes as he frowns thoughtfully. He doesn’t even look offended that Isak had cut him off like what he was saying didn’t matter.

“Uh,” he draws out, chewing on his lip. “The union’s doing three drinks for the price of two until seven tonight?”

It’s just gone six and Isak knows he shouldn’t start drinking on an empty stomach. He _knows_ , but he still slings his arm around Magnus’ shoulders and starts dragging him towards the front door.

“Mags, my man,” he tells him, grinning back when Magnus’ face lights up in the widest smile possible, “guess your plans for tonight just got a whole lot better.”

OOOOO

“ _The Boy who Couldn’t Jump Down from a Fence_ ” isn’t a story about Isak.

Isak doesn’t know whether he feels relieved or not. He is mainly just pissed off, because why the _fuck_ would Even so _blatantly_ name it that, only for it to be about a boy and a girl who don’t even fall in love because the boy is too afraid to jump down from the fence to meet the girl playing in her garden.

It’s not really a movie that makes sense, so of course it’s _highly acclaimed_ for its artistic touch and how it successfully leaves the audience with a feeling of bittersweet melancholy at the thought of missed opportunities and wasted moments that could’ve made a difference.

Isak is so fucking angry. He’s still angry when he sees the bottom of some bottle he probably shouldn’t have consumed the entirety of in one evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to literally everyone, because no one believed for even a second that these two weren't still married.
> 
> _Literally. Everyone._
> 
> I've been answering comments since _chapter 7_ "they're still married right??" with "I don't know what you mean, divorce papers were definitely signed" 🤡
> 
> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624250165636792320/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the chapter that could possibly bump up the rating? Maybe. Did I do extensive googling just to find out what constitutes as "mature" vs. "explicit"? Yes. Am I certain of the definition? About as certain as everyone else seems to be, which is something along the lines of a very vague, squiggly line that you're only aware of once you've crossed it. Is this the most explicit I've ever written? No, BtR does exist. I don't think I'll ever come close to that level of explicit xD But there was a hot minute where I thought I had completely lost the ability to write smut as I'd been rolling around in the lands of angst for so long.
> 
> This past was written to "The List" by Maisie Peters which I heard about two days after it had been released, had some kind of epiphany about the exact content I wanted and wrote the entire part in one day with that song on repeat in the background. The present was written to "Somewhere Only We Know" - any version can probably make do, but for some reason the Glee cover just had me working.
> 
> I can't believe we're actually at the end. This is the last chapter - after this is only the epilogue. Nonetheless, cue Evak and working on being your best self!

**_ Present _ **

Nothing is magically solved after that.

Even spends five awful hours yelling on the phone – Isak can’t tell at who specifically, probably more than one person. He’s never heard Even sound this furious and it’s honestly a bit terrifying.

Isak had always been the one who’d been quick to yell and shout, bottling things up until everything spills out. Even had internalized everything, going quiet and letting the hurt fester.

Maybe the turning point had been receiving shady divorce papers already signed and then being completely ghosted except for one phone call where he’d been told to come pick his shit up or it would get thrown out. Not that Isak had thrown anything out. He’d saved the stuff he wasn’t able to part with and then left everything else behind for Even or his team to take care of.

Once the phone call is over with, Even hides himself away in Isak’s room and doesn’t come out for two hours, all of which Isak spends pacing between the hallway, the kitchen, and Jonas’ room, debating whether or not he should go in and check on him.

He wouldn’t have hesitated before, he knows, but things aren’t exactly the same as before. They’re different, because they’re supposed to be. ‘ _Different_ ’ is going to be ‘ _better_ ’.

When Even comes back out, he’s hesitant about it, looking at Isak with big, vulnerable eyes. The apologies are falling out of his mouth before Isak has finished taking the first step towards him.

A lot is learned from that phone call.

The NDA is technically rendered invalid – even if there hadn’t been _so many_ shady legal issues with its existence in the first place, any signature of Isak’s was void the second the information became public knowledge.

The divorce never got finalized – Isak hadn’t doubted that Even hadn’t signed the papers, but at this point he’s far beyond taking things at face value and believing that goddamn legal team couldn’t have wormed their way into getting things to be how they wanted them to be.

Knowing he’s still married doesn’t come as big of a shock as it did when Even had told him, but it still feels like a punch to the stomach, makes him feel hollow and full at the same time and so off kilter he has to sit down.

Even looks at him with worried eyes, so Isak lets him run his fingers through his hair until he doesn’t feel as off-centered.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be married, doesn’t want to be married with _Even_ , it’s just that he’s spent literal years thinking he wasn’t, and knowing he _is_ takes a bit more adjustment that Isak had thought it would’ve.

Even’s new management team – _new_ in brackets, because apparently the team from hell hasn’t represented him since his second short film had come out – wants him to do interviews, wants for him to be out there, riding the free publicity wave to the fullest, but Even refuses.

It freaks the both of them out, though, reminding them that this is so much bigger than the two of them. It makes Isak question any future that they could have, because Even is a public figure, he’s a _world-famous director_ , and Isak is a _university student_ , hasn’t even gotten his BA yet.

Which is how they end up having their first massive row since that day in the kitchen when everything had blown up and finally come to light.

“ _What are you supposed to do, show up on the red carpet with me on your arm?_ ”

“ _What’s wrong with having you on my arm?_ ”

They’re not mad at each other, that’s not what it’s about. It’s years upon years of deeply layered insecurities and being terrified.

Even had ended up doing a series of tweets in the middle of the night when he hadn’t been able to fall asleep because of the nerves. His hands had been shaking, and he’d done typo after typo until his fancy phone had almost given up. Then he’d shut his phone off entirely and had kept his focus on Isak so he wouldn’t be tempted to check what people were saying about him, about them.

Isak can’t remember if they slept that night, in the end so exhausted their bodies had just given up, but he does remember the feeling of lying with Even, so close to him, and doing nothing but enjoying being with each other. It wasn’t exactly like they’d never done this before, but it had been freeing in a sense, the threatening _knowing_ that they had to keep quiet, keep to the shadows, gone.

Then there are the things that you can’t learn from a phone call.

Magnus – for all of his support and kindheartedness – had been the first one to break and ask _if they’re done being Debbie Downers yet so he can invite Vilde over_.

Isak's left so flabbergasted he doesn’t even get a good one in about _Magnus and Vilde_ apparently being an actual thing now.

Coming out is easier when you’re technically already out.

Telling people isn’t as difficult as Isak had always feared. The words, “ _This is Even, he’s my husband_ ,” sound weird coming out of his mouth, and most time he only manages to get out “ _This is Even_ ,” before he clamps shut.

Still, Even meets Eskild and Linn and he meets the girls – Sana he apparently already knows. It kind of blows Isak’s mind that _Sana_ is _Elias’_ sister, that they’re siblings, that Isak has been _so close_ to the people who mattered to Even and hadn’t even realized it.

In turn, Isak meets Even’s boys, feeling awkward as hell. Mikael he’s already met, but he hasn’t exactly made the best impression on him by first running away and then being the stranger that Even had married and who was now taking care of him after not speaking to each other for two years. It’s weird with all of them, though, because Isak feels like he’s technically known all of them since he was fifteen with how vividly Even would describe everything.

It goes well, though, for both of them. Eskild is clearly still a little hurt, but he’s putting his best foot forward without being forced to by Isak’s begging looks. Eva’s great at being welcoming, but she always was. Yousef is a little stilted with Isak, but Elias has apparently appointed himself to be the tension-diffuser which means telling stories about dumb shit that the group used to get up to. Isak doesn’t tell him that he already knows the stories, that’s not the point.

Sana shows up with an armful of notebooks, giving him a _look_ that isn’t nearly as chilling as it would’ve been when they’d first been forced into each other’s orbits. He grins at her, tells her “ _thank you, Sanasol_ ,” which makes Sana roll her eyes, but she’s smiling as well.

She doesn’t comment on how _this_ was why Isak had been so _wrong_ , why he’d taken to hiding away from the world, sometimes using her as a means for it. She also doesn’t say anything about his breakdown in the empty classroom. She really is a great best bud, Isak had been right about that.

Isak's lucky. He knows that. He knows a lot of people don’t get to have this positive a response from the people they’re closest to. But then there’s also the fact that it isn’t only the people in Isak’s life that he’s come out to, that it’s everyone in the world who knows and who feels entitled to express their opinions on it.

There are a lot of opinions on it.

Isak makes it a point not to look himself or Even up, but his restraint hasn’t improved in the past two years where he’s been making himself that promise anyway and is yet to manage keeping it.

He can’t remember ever having been called this many names, not even when Elias and his friends had been ganging up on him for most of his time in school. It puts him in a weird mood, a real funk that he can’t seem to shake himself out of.

The boys try to help, but they don’t understand. Isak isn’t sure he understands it, either.

It’s not until he one morning wakes up alone, panicked because _what if, what if, what if_ and stumbling out of bed to check if Even is _gone_ , that he manages to shake himself out of his rut.

Because he finds Even in the kitchen, bathed in the early morning sunlight, wearing the Jesus t-shirt that Isak probably should’ve given up on years ago, bare footed, and wielding a spatula, scrambling up some eggs and toasting two slices of bread.

He smiles when he sees Isak, albeit a bit concerned at the state of him, and he welcomes him with open arms when Isak treads closer, holding him tightly and shielding him from the heat of the stove as he continues to mix the eggs.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , Isak realizes. It doesn’t matter one single bit what everyone online or in real life is saying about him or about Even or about him and Even. As long as he gets to have this, _this_ is what matters.

Even leaves for a week to live with Mikael. Not that they really suspect the forced proximity of basically living together is doing anything good or bad to them, it’s just a precaution. They haven’t even been together in ages, but Isak is still surprised with how much he’d gotten used to Even just always _being there_.

That week is awful, and the time Even isn’t over at Isak’s anyway is spent texting Even the most inane, random things just because Isak’s heart can’t handle the risk of losing Even again.

They should probably do something to stop it from developing into a codependency that would be really unhealthy for the both of them, but for now they’re both a bit extra clingy, nerves frazzled from finding out that the past two years of their lives have practically been one big lie that could’ve prevented months upon months of heartbreak. It’s not an easy pill to swallow.

It’s still a necessity learning how they _fit_ together again. Isak still remembers how Even takes his coffee and tea and what he likes for breakfast when he’s happy or when he’s stressed, but now there are new things about Even that Isak doesn’t know – like what he’ll insist on throwing into the grocery cart, although Isak is certain most of it is simply to make him laugh.

Isak draws the line at the line of spices Even insists are a necessity to have in one’s spice rack. Isak tells him that he refuses to believe him until he’s able to pronounce _Pottagaldrar_ correctly. Even spends the next minute pronouncing everything just a _smidge_ wrong, and then laughs so hard he has to sit down in the middle of the isle when Isak sing-songs _Kardemomme_.

Isak is slow at taking off his jacket. He can hear Even in the kitchen, putting away the groceries and rearranging the fridge to his liking, and Isak has _missed_ this.

He had spent so long missing _Even_ that he’d forgotten about all these little things that made up their life together; the grocery shopping and Even putting it away, and Isak picking up after them and doing the laundry, and he has _missed_ this _domesticity_ that they so easily fall into every single time.

The fridge door closes and Even comes out to see why Isak is still loitering in the hall, his jacket hanging limply in one hand.

“Did you fall asleep out here?” Even laughs, then comes closer to grab Isak’s jacket to hang it up on the coat rack.

Even is leaning down over him when he reaches down for his jacket. He smells _good_ , like clean soap and a scent that’s distinctively _Even_ and a little bit like Isak because he’s wearing his shirt, and he’s all up in Isak’s space and Isak can’t _not_.

Even steps back once he’s gotten the jacket out of Isak’s limp hold. He’s still smiling and Isak knows he’s just waiting to tease Isak further. He can already see how Even turns to look at him instead of the coat rack.

He’s smiling, wide and with his teeth and so hard that it makes his eyes crinkle. Isak waits until Even's looking at him to let his eyes wander down to Even’s mouth.

Even when he’s smiling like this, his bottom lip looks plump and Isak really, _really_ wants to kiss him. They haven’t kissed once this entire time, and Isak lets himself have his fill of looking, of following the curve of his cupid’s lip right up to the corner of his mouth that comes closer and closer the more Even stops smiling.

Isak briefly looks up to look at Even’s eyes to see if something’s wrong.

Even looks… so taken aback, but not uncomfortable in the slightest. He misses the knob on the coat rack so Isak’s jacket falls to the ground. Even doesn’t even move to look at it, doesn’t do anything that means he’ll have to look away from Isak.

He swallows, and Isak trails the movement in his throat as well, briefly stopping at his lips when he goes back to look at Even’s eyes again.

Isak licks his lips once, just a peek of his tongue against his bottom lip, but that’s all it takes for Even to take two massive steps and then he’s in Isak’s space.

He pushes him up against the wall harshly enough that Isak loses his breath, and then Even’s lips are on his and Isak can’t keep in his muffled moan at the feeling.

It’s frantic and a bit wet and messy. It feels like the floor is swimming underneath Isak’s feet and he has to touch Even, _has to_ , so he grabs on to whatever bit he first touches – his sides – and curls his hands along his ribs underneath his open hoodie, nails slightly digging into his back through his t-shirt.

Even makes a muffled groan that makes Isak’s blood rush downwards; something that isn’t lessened in the slightest when Even grabs on to his hair and clenches his hand into a fist until his hold is so secure he can move and direct Isak around however he likes.

Even is a warm force pressed up against him, and Isak can feel he’s already hard from where his crotch is pressed up against Isak’s hip. Isak is well on his own way there, if he isn’t there already. God, he can’t breathe, but he isn’t sure he actually wants to. He’s gasping into Even’s mouth at every opportunity and Even is doing the same, but neither of them move away to let the other breathe properly.

It’s so hot and a bit filthy and Isak should probably be worried that they’re doing this out in the hallway, but he literally doesn’t have any part of his brain left that isn’t fully enraptured by Even.

So he doesn’t stop to think until they hear the front door open up and whatever conversation that had been going on halters immediately.

Both Isak and Even tense up before Even draws back. He can’t get far with the way Isak is still holding on to him so desperately, but then again, Even’s hands are still in his hair so it’s not like Isak could take a single step back if he wanted to, had he not already been pressed against the wall.

Jonas is obviously trying to keep a cool, relaxed expression on his face, but Mahdi is grinning like an idiot. Magnus is too far back behind the two of them, but Isak is willing to bet he’s gaping at them.

Jesus, this is the first time Isak and Even have even _kissed_ in front of them, of course it had to be a heavy make-out session as well instead of an innocent peck before one of them is out the door.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_ , Isak can’t breathe and it feels startlingly horrible compared to just seconds before when he hadn’t been able to breathe because of Even.

“Well, well, well,” Jonas is grinning now. “Did you get the grocery shopping done?”

Even clears his throat. This conversation feels very misplaced considering Isak is still pressed up against the wall with Even pressed up against him and they’re in the middle of the hallway and none of them are moving. “It’s in the fridge.”

“Sweet,” Jonas nods. His eyes are soft when he looks at Isak and Isak doesn’t even dare think of how he looks – a bit debauched if anything and quite possibly like his friends are a firing squad here just for him.

Jonas nods again, but this time it doesn’t feel as much as an acknowledgment they’ve gotten the grocery shopping done, but more of a reassurance for Isak. Isak can almost hear Jonas’ thoughts shouting at him across the distance, _you’re allowed to kiss your husband!_

And Isak – Isak can’t help the grin slowly stretching out across his face, because, _yes_ , he is allowed to kiss _his husband_. He shouldn’t feel like he’s not allowed, shouldn’t let anyone, whether they’re in his life or not, tell him he can’t kiss his _husband_. He’s so, so in love with Even, and if he wants to kiss him – and Even wants to kiss him – then he’s _going to kiss him_.

Jonas must see it on his face, because he’s properly grinning now as he nods one last time.

“Yeah,” Isak should probably clear his throat as well. Despite the interruption, he feels Even’s dick twitch against his hip at the slight raspy sound to his voice. “If that’s all then –“ he leans up on the tips of his toes to press his mouth right up against Even’s ear and whispers, “ _I’d really like for you to be inside me_.”

Even makes a choked sound as his hands momentarily tighten in Isak’s hair. Isak pushes against his stomach until he stumbles back a step, his hands flail for a moment before Isak grabs one and starts tugging him in the direction of his bedroom.

“Alright-y,” Jonas says and reaches over Mahdi to grab onto the door handle. “We’ll just go and play some football, then, if you don’t mind.”

“Really don’t,” Isak calls back. God, he can’t stop smiling and Even's smiling right back at him.

“Wait, what’s Evak doing?” Magnus called out. “What are you do- what are they doing?”

Isak giggles as he drags Even into his room, the slam of his door shutting close keeping out whatever else Magnus might’ve been saying, and then Isak leans up and they’re kissing again.

It’s been _literal years_ since Isak last kissed Even, and he’s fucking _missed it_. He’s missed Even’s body pressed up against his own, he’s missed the feeling of Even’s lips against his own, against him in general, and he’s missed _Even_.

It’s goddamn _everything_.

It’s rediscovering each other, which is a little bit of a weird feeling when Isak remembers just how much time they used to spend just making out. That probably makes it easier to pick it up right where they left off, though, because it doesn’t take long before Even is kissing him long and deep, turning Isak pliant and needy.

Things don’t feel as terrifying when he’s kissing Even.

Having kissed Even in front of the boys doesn’t feel like the death sentence Isak had thought it would be. Having people know that he likes boys, that he likes – _loves Even_ – doesn’t make his world fall apart.

Isak makes a soft noise when Even pulls back, immediately leaning back in, but Even is grinning too widely to kiss Isak properly, the way he wants to be kissed. Isak frowns and opens his eyes, hoping a grumpy look will make Even pull himself together quicker.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Even whispers against his lips, immediately causing Isak’s cheeks to heat up.

He squirms a bit, but he doesn’t feel terrible, not in the way he’d thought he would’ve.

Isak tilts his head back, jaw set as he looks at Even determinedly. “Would you rather I’d have to be quiet?”

All of the air in Even’s lungs comes whooshing out. His fingers dig into Isak’s hips until he’s wriggling forward, trying to get closer or to get Even moving away from the door.

The bed. They should – things suddenly feel a lot more urgent, like it had when Even had dropped Isak’s jacket in favor of keeping his eyes on him.

Isak pushes at Even’s chest to get him moving, but Even is already dipping down to kiss Isak again, delaying Isak’s plans and thoughts for a few seconds before the heat gathering in his center is too insistent for Isak to forget about it.

“Even, Ev, _come on_ – “ the words come out muffled when his lips are still moving against Even’s, but Even still manages to understand him.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, standing still when Isak tries to stumble forward, tries to get them closer to the bed that’s _literally so close_. “What you said? Did you mean it? Because we don’t – we don’t have to –“

And Even trying to be gallant, trying to let things go slowly when this is hardly the first time they’ve done _anything_ – just the first time this time around – shouldn’t be this much of a turn on, but it _is_. Isak literally feels dizzy with it, completely breathless as he pulls back just so he can look Even in the eye when he tells him.

“I want it,” he says, then gets shy at the thought of having been too blunt.

Maybe Even had been trying to pause it because _he_ didn’t want it, had changed his mind, had –

“Do – do you?” he asks quietly, suddenly unable to look past the corner of Even’s eye. Asking takes a lot, but that’s a thing they do now, _asking_. _Talking_. Because not doing so had been what had made everything so messed up for so long. “We don’t have to –“

Even cuts him off with his lips, which hurts a bit because their teeth end up knocking together and Even somehow manages to nick Isak’s bottom lip slightly with his canine.

“Of course I want to,” Even tells him, licking with the tip of his tongue where his tooth had caught Isak’s skin. “Silly, beautiful boy, of course I want to.”

Even the tips of Isak’s ears feel like they’re a flaming pink.

“Maybe you didn’t,” he counters, not sure why. The knot of anxiety in his heart isn’t easy to get rid of.

Even’s eyes are soft when Isak gets the courage to meet his eyes again. One hand cards through Isak’s hair gently.

“I do,” Even says, sending a hot surge of _want_ through Isak when he remembers an entirely different time when Even had looked at him like that and had said those words to him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, I promise. Please don’t doubt that, don’t doubt –“ _don’t doubt me_ , Isak knows Even wants to say but probably can’t bring himself to.

Isak not trusting Even and his feelings for Isak had been part of the mess after all. Some wounds need time to heal. Neither of them are entirely okay yet, but they will be. For once, Isak is entirely certain of that.

“Okay,” Isak says, giving Even two short pecks before he tries to push him backwards towards the bed again. “Okay.”

Even is malleable this time around, so it doesn’t take more than two seconds before the back of his knees knock against the bed and he sits down, grinning up at Isak.

Leaning down to kiss Even also feels like a novelty that it shouldn’t, because _they’ve done this before_ , Isak keeps reminding himself.

Even must be able to sense the inner turmoil Isak is tumbling around with in his thoughts, because he pulls back to check on Isak again.

But Isak does decidedly _not_ want to be checked on, so Even doesn’t get further than opening his mouth before Isak falls forward at the same time as he’s pushing Even down so they both end up lying on the bed, facing each other.

“ _Faen_ ,” Even laughs, hurrying to curl his hands around Isak’s waist again. “God, you startled me.”

Isak is grinning, wants a little bit to tease Even and tell him, _“good”_ , but he wants to kiss him more, so he does that instead.

Kissing is good. It’s _so_ good. Isak never wants to stop. He twists onto his back so he can pull Even on top of him, improving the angle immensely. Feels Even tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing in just slightly before he pulls away again, breaking their lips apart.

Isak didn’t mean for the whine to come out, but Even hadn’t been there to muffle it, so it sounds a lot louder than Isak had thought it would’ve.

He feels Even’s breath huff lightly against his cheek when he presses his lips there instead of on Isak’s mouth, then feels his lips press against his jaw, and then down, down, down.

The giggle bubbles out of Isak’s mouth before he can stop it, and he squirms away from Even’s mouth, pressing his cheek against his shoulder reflexively.

Even pauses in confusion, but soon a _way too_ satisfied grin splits across his face.

“What was that?”

Isak flushes and kicks out at Even weakly, his knee more so caressing his side than anything else. “Nothing, kiss me,” he tries to deflect, but Even leans back when Isak clenches his stomach to hold himself up.

“You turned into a little girl when I started to kiss you.”

“I wasn’t ready for neck-action!” Isak protests, his cheeks warm, but he’s laughing as well.

“’ _Neck-action_ ’,” Even laughs, finally leaning down, but he kisses Isak right at the dip of the base of his throat. “If you’re not even ready for ‘ _neck-action_ ’, then how will the ‘ _dick-action_ ’ go down?”

“’ _Dick-action_ ’,” Isak groans, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands much to Even’s amusement. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You did _not_ just say that.”

Even is laughing too hard to reply, the _asshole_. He’s a heavy weight on top of Isak, body gone too limp to hold himself up anymore.

And Isak should be groaning, should be teasing Even relentlessly for actually having said the words ‘ _dick-action_ ’ out loud, but instead he shuffles his left thigh out from underneath Even’s weight and uses it alongside his right leg to wrap around Even’s waist, pulling him in closer and closer and closer until he can’t _breathe_.

This time it feels like he can’t breathe because he’s laughing too hard for Even to be lying on top of him like this. For all of the reasons why Isak has been unable to breathe in the past, this is probably one of his favorites.

“The mood is all over the place,” Isak complains, says more than anything really.

It’s difficult to complain when Even is smiling like that at him.

“It’s good,” Even assures him, pressing his hips down against Isak’s so he can feel for himself just how _good_ it really is.

Isak has to admit that it _does_ feel dizzyingly good.

“I forgot how fun this is,” Even whispers, fingers running along Isak’s hairline softly. “Or, well, not _forgot_ necessarily, but – you know what it’s like when you know about something because you used to do it every single day, like, you know how hard it was to get up at six every morning because you had to go to school, but you don’t remember the _feeling_ of being so tired and just wanting to stay home? It’s like that. I knew I always loved you and loved having you this way, but I wouldn’t and couldn’t let myself fully remember what it was really like.”

Isak knows. Isak knows this, because he feels it too, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to Even, so instead he pulls Even down by his neck and presses his lips against his.

It doesn’t feel as frantic as it had out in the hall, but it feels _deeper_ than anything else Isak has ever felt. He feels it in his stomach, in his heart, in his lungs, all the way down to his _toes_.

Even plucks at the hem of the hoodie Isak is wearing. “Love seeing you in this.”

Isak licks his bottom lip, Even following the movement as if in a trance. They’re both breathing a bit harshly. “But maybe not right now?” he finishes for Even.

“Maybe not right now,” Even agrees, and then they’re shuffling until Even is up on his knees and Isak is crunching high enough that he can get the hoodie off with Even’s help.

Isak falls back on the bed with an _umph_ , but the sound has barely left his lips before he’s leaning up again to wrench off his t-shirt, and then help Even out as well.

“Too many layers,” he complains much to Even’s amusement.

“It’s late autumn. In _Norway_. What do you want?”

“For you to not be wearing this many clothes,” Isak tells him bluntly, because this is a thing he wants to get good at, wants to be able to tell Even the truth without hesitating or second-guessing himself.

Even pauses, but his eyes are dark, cheeks a bit flushed, and he’s staring at Isak like he’s a few seconds away from devouring him.

Then he lifts his shirt off as well, crawling his way back over Isak. The feeling of his skin pressing against Isak’s makes Isak gasp, hands flying up to steady himself somewhere, anywhere, to let Even help him feel grounded.

One hand ends up in Even’s hair, the other clutching at his shoulder.

“One day,” Even pecks Isak’s lips so he can keep talking, “I’ll take you with me to see the world. All the warm places so you’ll never have to put any clothes on.”

Isak feels a bit like he’s made out of goo, that he’s actually melted here in Even’s arms. He cards the hand he has in Even’s hair gently through his locks. “I never needed to see the world,” he says instead of joking back. “That was never what it was about.”

Even shifts his weight onto his elbows so he can get close enough to breathe the same air as Isak.

“I know,” he tells him. “I know it wasn’t, that it isn’t. Let me spoil you, please.”

Isak blinks the tears out of his eyes frantically, looking off to the side even though he knows Even isn’t able to miss it, not when he’s this close. He doesn’t want to cry right now, not when he’s this happy. “Well, if you want to _spoil me_.“

“Menace,” Even grins, pressing his nose into Isak’s cheek until he’s managed to get his tear ducts back in line.

Isak hears the sentiment for what it is, though, hears the _darling_ loud and clear.

It’s what makes him kiss Even again. Or, maybe it’s everything that makes him kiss Even again. Maybe it’s everything that makes him want to never stop kissing Even again.

The heat that fills Isak feels unbearably good. It’s difficult to breathe sometimes, but Isak doesn’t think not being able to breathe has ever felt like it does right now, with Even’s weight on top of him, his lips against his, his hands searing as they make their way around his body, easily manipulating it into moving this way and that until they’re both entirely undressed.

Isak’s breath hitches in his throat and he can’t seem to tug Even back down on top of him fast enough.

He just – he wants. He wants so much, and he wants so much more, but at the same time it already feels like it’s so much – more than he can handle.

He’s so hard, and Even is too. He gasps when he feels him against him, heat swirling around in his abdomen, making him squirm until Even finally manages to open up the lube and pour some out on his fingers. His hands are shaking a bit, though, and a drop spills onto Isak’s stomach.

He hisses from the cold, startled. Before he knows it Even has closed the lid and dropped the bottle in the sheets – which will be a _bitch_ to search through in a second – so he can place his warm hand on Isak’s stomach. He looks positively massive like that, his fingers spanning all the way from his hip to his ribs.

God, Isak loves the feeling of it. That hasn’t changed in the slightest.

Other things have, though. Even is more careful when he pushes the first finger in, in a way that he hasn’t been since the very first times they’d tried this.

His hair is different too, done up in the way he always does it; quaffed and stylish. It’s a bit disheveled from Isak messing it up right now, though. Isak sucks in a breath and has to grab on to Even’s hair again, just because.

Even looks up at him cautiously, checking if something is wrong, if Isak is in pain, but whatever sight Isak makes only has his eyes darkening and lips parting slightly as a harsh breath leaves him.

“Fuck me,” Isak whispers, begs probably. He bears down when Even presses another finger against him, so ready, ready, _ready_ and needing Even to just move on already. “ _Please_.”

“Shh,” Even hushes him, pressing his lips against Isak’s right hip, then moves down to his inner thigh.

If he’d expected it to have a calming effect, it _does_ make Isak feel like drawing in the next breath doesn’t feel impossible, but it serves nothing to quell the frantic energy building inside of him. He reaches down to grab a hold of himself, but Even bats his hand away before he can get a single tug in.

“Not yet,” he promises, grins when Isak whines in reply.

That’s a thing that isn’t different, Isak notes. Even is still as much of a tease as he’s always been.

As if Even can tell what he’s thinking, he curls his fingers perfectly. Isak’s legs curl up reflexively as he grows a million degrees hotter in one second. He accidentally bangs his knee against Even’s elbow, displacing his fingers inside of him. He lets out a soft, complaining noise at the odd movement that Even hurries to hush, his hand returning to Isak’s stomach.

His thumb draws small patterns along the bottom-line of his ribs in a hypnotizing manner.

“You’re good,” Even tells him, asks, Isak can’t tell. He wants to always have Even’s hands on him, wants to always feel like this, wants to always have Even between his thighs, wants time to freeze like this.

Or when he’s actually _finally_ gotten Even inside of him. That’s probably better, _definitely_ better.

“ _Even_ ,” he gasps, trying to get his point across without saying the actual words. His tongue feels too thick to form words, his lips already sore from all the kissing. The skin on his chin feels a bit itchy from the scratch of Even’s stubble.

“ _Faen_ ,” Even swears. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? How you feel around my fingers?”

Isak _burns_ with the flush heating him up. “Do _you_?”

“Christ.” Even doesn’t even bother closing his mouth now, just folds himself over Isak so he can kiss him.

Kissing Even both is and isn’t the same as it’s always been. He still likes to lick into Isak’s mouth, but it’s more controlled now. His lips are softer too, from stylists needing to present him in the best way possible. But he tastes the same, feels the same against Isak, and Isak can’t get enough of it.

Even is just breathing now, sharing the same breaths between them over and over again. He works two fingers back inside Isak again.

“We’re good together, aren’t we?” Even’s voice is soft, a little shy, a lot insecure.

Isak cups his cheek. “Always. We’ve always been good together.”

Even nods, pressing his nose against Isak’s. “I wish you’d just called me, back then,” he admits in nothing but a whisper, “so I could’ve told you what a load of rubbish it was.”

It’s difficult feeling the pleasure of having Even inside of him at the same time as the cage around his heart tightens.

“I know.” Isak sort of does too, but there’s also a part of his that doesn’t. “I just – what if that had been it? What if they’d said ‘ _alright_ ’ and made you pack up and leave? I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let our marriage be the only epic story you’d get to live.”

Even kisses him quiet.

“Still,” Even presses the tip of a third finger against where his other two fingers are, “I wish I hadn’t fucked up and made you believe that was a reality. That it was something I would seriously do, that I would feel like that.”

“We _both_ fucked up,” Isak rectifies. “I shouldn’t have stopped talking to you. We shouldn’t have stopped talking altogether. That’s why it went so wrong.”

He tugs at Even’s hair to get his point across, to make sure he has Even’s attention and that he understands and believes what Isak is telling him.

“We’re already doing better, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Even agrees. Isak loosens his grip on his hair. “I just wish I could’ve had you with me.”

Isak has to bite down on his tongue. “We can’t keep going over it like this, it’ll kill us. We’re going to move forward instead. Right?”

“Right,” Even nods, but he still looks sad so Isak kisses him again. “I just – I’m sorry I hurt you. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Isak promises. “And I’m sorry I hurt _you_. I never wanted to do that. I don’t want to hurt you again. That’s why we’re working so hard to do better.”

“I know. We will. We are.” Even is the one to kiss him this time.

It’s slow and warm and good and it makes Isak feel like his lungs are able to fully expand inside of his chest. Even also looks happier when he pulls back, when he moves the two fingers he still has inside Isak.

Isak tries to muffle his groan against the pillows, but Even guides him back to face him instead with his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Don’t do that. Let me hear you, please. It’s been so long, I want to hear – I want to _see_ –“

Isak couldn’t muffle the noise he makes even if he wanted to. It’s raw and guttural and Even looks breathless from it.

“Fuck,” Even mutters again, and then there are _three_ fingers inside of Isak and he can’t do anything but repeat the sentiment himself.

“Please,” he breathes, not even sure what he’s begging for. “ _Please_.”

“I’ve got you,” Even promises. “I’ll take care of you. Let me – let me take care of you.”

Isak is nodding, his eyes are squeezed shut so he can’t tell how Even looks. He can’t open them, he’s so overwhelmed with how good he feels and how _much_ he feels.

Another soft noise escapes him when Even draws out his fingers.

“Uhm –“ Even hesitates, and Isak finally manages to open his eyes.

Even looks as disheveled as Isak feels, just as out of it and not wanting to miss any of it. Isak almost thinks that he’s going to ask if Isak is sure, if he really wants this, or that he might bring up that he’s sorry again.

“You don’t know what happened to the lube, do you?”

Isak pauses as he registers Even’s words. Then – “Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ , I _literally_ thought that when I heard you just _toss it_ –“

“Hey,” Even protests, but he’s laughing too hard to pull it off. “I was _distracted_.”

Isak snorts. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” Even agrees. “I have the most gorgeous boy underneath me, how could I _not_ be distracted?”

 _Christ_ , Even shouldn’t be able to make him blush this easily, not in a moment like this. But Isak’s cheeks are heating up and he’s squirming underneath Even’s intense gaze. “If you hadn’t been distracted, you could’ve been inside this boy already.”

“ _God_ ,” Even breathes, a bit like all the air has gotten punched out of his lungs. “Fuck, alright, _please_ help me find the lube.”

“The sheets,” he directs, pulling at the corner of the duvet mostly unhelpfully. “Come on, _please_.”

“Fuck, okay,” Even mumbles, frantically patting down the duvet until he finds the bottle. “Okay, I’ve got you, come here.”

As if Isak has _moved_.

He pushes his feet up further on the mattress so he can lift his bum up onto Even’s thighs for easier access, his stomach tightening at the noises of Even slickening himself up.

And then he’s inside of him, and Isak has to fight to keep breathing, to not lose his breath entirely.

He slides in slowly, like Isak is something to be careful with.

“Ev- _Even_ ,” he breathes, hands flying out until he can steady himself on Even’s arms. “ _Even_.”

Even’s breathing is labored already. He can’t tear his eyes off of Isak. “ _Christ_ , you’re tight. Isak, baby –”

“Can you –“ Isak moans when Even rolls his hips, keeps sliding in _slowly, slowly, slowly_ until Isak is certain there can’t be anything left. “Even –“

“I’ve got you,” Even promises, leaning down once he’s _finally_ slid in the last couple of inches to kiss him. “Baby, I’ve got you.”

Isak doesn’t mean to moan at the endearment, but he does. God, he’s missed this, he loves this, he loves –

“I’ll always pick you,” Even promises him. “I never want you to doubt that ever again. I pick you.”

Isak nods, kisses him again. “I pick you too, you know. Always. Can you – please, _move_.”

And Even does. He pulls out about halfway, and then spends ages pushing back in to the hilt. Isak pushes himself up even further, hooks his knee around Even’s waist so he sinks in impossibly deeper on the next thrust.

It’s good. It’s impossibly good, and Isak loses himself to the feeling quickly.

He’s sweating. Even is as well, breath coming in short pants as he moves quicker and quicker, working Isak up to the edge dizzyingly fast. He doesn’t want it to end yet, though. Not when it’s this good, when it means so much to him.

This is the boy that Isak had fallen head-first in love with when Even had broken into the Botanical Garden just to get him a picture of a flower. This is the boy that he’d snuck around with everywhere because neither of them dared to meet in the sunlight. This is the boy that he’d fumbled through awkward blowjobs before they’d gotten the hang of it, the first person he’d ever kissed, ever had sex with, ever fell in love with. This is the boy he’d _married_ , had vowed to spend the rest of his life with. The boy he’d thought he would never get to have like this again, who didn’t want him anymore. This is the boy that Isak will get to spend the rest of his life with.

“Baby,” Even croons sweetly into Isak’s temple as he presses a kiss there. “ _Baby_.”

Isak mewls beautifully even as he chokes on a sob. Tears are wetting his eyelashes and he’s feeling so _much_ he can’t process it.

“Baby, you’re crying,” Even tells him, reminds him, Isak doesn’t know, can’t focus on anything that isn’t Even slowing down until he’s lazily twisting his hips, grinding so deeply inside him. “Why are you crying?”

And there are so many reasons why Isak is crying, but mostly because it’s been so long since he’s had this, since he’s had _Even_ , and it feels like he’s been lost, wandering for years and years and now he’s finally gotten to come _home_.

“Love you,” Isak babbles, choked and breathy and whiny and so, so beautifully. “Love you, love you, love you.”

Even might be crying a little bit as well.

“My baby,” Even presses small kisses down his cheekbone, his cheek, his jaw, licking away any tears that have escaped. “My sweet, beautiful, _brave_ boy. So good for me, so good to me.”

A sob breaks out of Isak’s mouth. “Love you.”

He should’ve told him a million times, should’ve never stopped saying it.

“I love you, too. God, Isak, I’m so close, please tell me you’re close as well,” Even begs.

“I’m close,” Isak promises, grabs Even’s shoulder to keep from getting pushed up the bed by Even’s hips. “I love you. I’m so close.”

“ _Isak_ ,” Even moans, lying down on top of Isak so he can kiss him, his hips picking up the pace again once their chests are pressed together, Isak’s dick is trapped between their stomachs. “What do you need, what can I –“

“Kiss me,” Isak begs. “Just that, just kiss me, _please_.”

And Even does. His lips glide over Isak’s messily, because his hips are losing their rhythm and they’re both panting but also way too close to the edge to really care.

Isak shoots off between them without a hand to help him along. Even’s hips rock up twice into him before he hides his face away in Isak’s neck, sucking the skin between his teeth to control his moans.

“ _Baby_.” Isak whines at the name again, feeling oversensitive and used and so fucking in love. “It’s always been you. It’ll always be you.”

“I love you,” Isak replies, grunting when Even pulls out.

He only just manages to shift his weight onto one arm before he tumbles onto the bed next to Isak, short of breath and flushed and the most beautiful thing Isak has ever seen.

“I love you,” he whispers, not caring if Even doesn’t hear it. He just needs to say it, needs for the words to be out there in the universe.

It sounds like some bullshit Vilde would probably say, he thinks. How if you tell the universe about what you want, it’ll give it to you.

Isak doesn’t need for the universe to grant him anything. Not when he’s already got what he wants the most. Now he just has to work on keeping it, but he doesn’t think that’ll be a problem – not with all the people he knows he has in his corner.

Even is still lying on his back from where he tumbled onto the bed. Isak can’t stand not being closer to him, so he rolls onto his side, then continues onto his front until his shoulder bumps against Even’s chest.

“ _Umph_ ,” Even grunts, but it’s for show and he’s already worming his arm underneath Isak’s neck to support his head. “Halla.”

“Hei,” Isak grins, feeling a little silly because of how shy he suddenly feels. “You alright?”

“I’m fucking _amazing_ ,” he grins, moving his elbow so Isak rolls a little closer. He’s smiling softly at him as Isak moves to accommodate him. “And – are you?”

Isak hums pleased. “A little sore.”

Even’s free hand lands on Isak’s hips, the tips of his fingers pressing against his lower back wonderfully. Isak groans at the feeling, pushes up against Even’s touch even as he moves further down towards his cheeks.

“I like it, though,” he admits, squirming with it as Even looks fully captivated by him. “I like you.”

Even’s smile is _blinding_. “I like _you_.”

Isak’s own smile might be blinding as well. It makes kissing a little awkward, but by god is Isak going to do it anyway –

The front door _slams_ open.

“ _Hello, fellow remaining roommates!_ ” Magnus bellows, voice a little muffled through Isak’s closed door, but not enough to easily tune him out.

Or Mahdi, for that sake. “ _We have returned, because the weather was utterly shit and rubbish for football, so we went to get kebabs, and now we’re freezing cold and with no other excuses to stay out._ ”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Isak groans, shoving his head into the pillow. His mouth sort of lands on Even’s bicep, though, which means his head ends up being a bit shaken about because Even is _laughing_.

“ _Don’t worry, though, because we are in the mood for music!_ ” the yelling continues, Jonas this time, because all of Isak’s friends are _assholes_.

“The goddamn theatrics on them,” Isak complains. “And I thought living with you or Eskild was bad.”

“Shush, you,” Even curls the arm Isak is lying on to gather him closer. “At least they’re courteous enough to let us know they’re back without just walking in.”

Isak snorts. “’ _Courteous_ ’. Yeah, right, good one. They’re a bunch of assholes, just you wait –“’

The words haven’t even left Isak’s mouth before _The Lion King_ soundtrack starts _blaring_ through the apartment.

Even’s laugh comes a close second in terms of loudness – a full-on belly laugh that leaves him breathless and with shining eyes as he curls closer to Isak.

“ _Assholes_ ,” Isak repeats. “I _hate_ them. Let’s move out.”

Even is still giggling, but not so much that he can’t press a kiss to Isak’s temple. “Not yet, baby. Let’s enjoy this a bit longer.”

He’s smiling and beautiful and he’s Isak’s fucking _husband_ , and it’s so easy to smile back and fall a little more in love to the tunes of Elton John’s ‘ _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ ’.

“Okay.”

OOOOO

“If you’re late for Movie Night-night one more time, Isak, I will personally drag the two of you apart, do _not_ test me!”

“Five more minutes,” Isak mutters against Even’s lips, stubbornly kissing him even as Even laughs.

“I don’t think we have five minutes,” Even tells him, but then he’s kissing him again, so what does he know.

They do not, in fact, have five minutes.

Isak’s door knocks against the wall, startling the two of them apart.

“Oh god, my eyes!” Mahdi is screeching despite not even having peeked in _and_ the fact that both Isak and Even are fully clothed. Their lips aren’t even pink and swollen yet – they haven’t been kissing for more than ten minutes because Isak had to finish up his reading first and Even had to fix an issue with a colleague’s script directions. “It _burns_!”

“Shut up,” Isak groans, tries to pull Even back down on the bed to kiss him. Who cares if the door is open, that’ll show them to not interrupt the sacredness of a closed door.

God, what does he need to do, put a sock on the door handle as well?

Even only lets him for two kisses, though, then he’s pulling back and moving off the bed.

“ _No_ ,” he whines petulantly, making grabby-hands at Even. Maybe if he pouts long enough Even will take pity on him and tell the boys to fuck off, he has a boy to kiss.

That doesn’t happen.

“Up,” Even orders, only leaning forward long enough to smack at Isak’s hip once, way too fast for Isak to grab on to him to pull him back down.

“It’s a _movie night_ ,” Isak complains, hoping Even will see sense and _come back already_.

Even just laughs, the _asshole_ , from out in the hallway. “What is my favorite thing in the world?”

“ _Me_.”

“Second favorite,” Even amends from out in the kitchen. “What snacks do you want?”

Isak sighs for a good minute, _loudly_ so Even knows of his displeasure. “Chips.”

“What flavor?”

Isak stomps into the living room without looking back at Even in the kitchen. “Onion, because like _hell_ am I kissing you again tonight.”

“Hello there, grumpy boy,” Jonas greets him, probably in an attempt at saving Even from Isak’s wrath when he hears just how loud he’s laughing. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence – _umph_!” he groans when Isak sinks down on the couch, a well-placed elbow ending up in Jonas’ stomach.

Mahdi and Magnus have gotten comfy already; Mahdi’s scrolling through the movie options, and Magnus is sitting sideways in the armchair he’s dragged closer to the couches.

He’s looking at Isak, frowning thoughtfully. “You know, you’ve gone without getting any dick for years by now. Surely going five minutes without Even’s dick isn’t the end of the world.”

Isak wouldn’t be able to bite his tongue hard enough to refrain from giving Magnus a scorching remark. “Said by someone who has clearly never tried it.”

It was _meant_ to be a dis about Magnus being a virgin. In no way possible has Isak ever expected Magnus to interpret it as something else.

Magnus bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly at him. “Why, Isak, are you offering to ‘ _show me the ropes_ ’, so to speak?”

The _snort_ Jonas makes is entirely unattractive, and Isak sort of wishes he’d recorded it just for holding it over his head, but then again he’s _really glad_ he’s not recording the atrocity that is this fucking conversation.

“Absolutely not,” he protests. “That’s, like, the biggest turn off in the world.”

“Bullshit!” Magnus calls. “As if you wouldn’t fuck me if you had the chance.”

Isak just _looks_ at him. “No.”

The look on Magnus’ face is so shocked and affronted Mahdi ends up spewing a bit of juice out of his nose.

“Bull _shit_!” Magnus repeats, snapping his fingers at Isak. “Come on! Out of the three of us, who would you bang first?”

“None of you.” Isak doesn’t even have to _think_ about it.

Magnus squawks, indignantly outraged. “ _Lies_. Lies and slander I tell you.”

“Ranking is in, right now,” Jonas puffs at Isak with his elbow, ignoring the chilling glare he gets in return. “Haven’t you seen all the YouTube videos?”

“It’s only three places,” Magnus whines. “Isak, come _on_! First, second, and third in the competition for Isak’s dick.”

“You’ve all been disqualified.”

“ _Isak_!”

“Magnus,” Isak finally snaps, “look at what I’m working with. _None of you_ compare.”

Magnus blinks. Then blinks again and shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“That’s _it_?” Mahdi cries out. “I’ve been listening to your _whining_ and you just give up like that?”

“It’s _Even_ ,” Magnus stresses, like that’s an explanation in itself. “There isn’t a single person in the world who wouldn’t want Even. You know what – everyone in this room who has ever wanted Even, raise your hand.” Magnus‘ hand flies up immediately. He sends Isak a dirty look. “Isak, you too.”

“ _No_.”

“Isak –“

“Come on, man,” Mahdi breaks in, nudging Isak’s knee with his foot. He has to stretch comically far to reach him, but even the sight of it isn’t enough to lift Isak’s mood. “It’ll just look weird if you don’t. As if we don’t know it already.”

Isak levels a glare at Mahdi instead, but he also sighs and raises his hand.

“There you go!” Magnus laughs, leaning forward to high-five him. Jonas barks out a laugh at the cross look on Isak’s face.

“What the hell am I walking in on?” Even laughs, holding a packet of chips in one hand, two chocolate bars under his elbows and balancing two cups of tea by their handles in his other hand. He’s grinning obnoxiously at Isak, waggling his eyebrows. “So much for not wanting to kiss me tonight, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Isak groans, but it’s ruined by a giggle he has to hide away in one of the sofa cushions once the teasing starts.

 _This is good_ , he thinks when the lights have been turned off, the opening credits rolling as they all get comfortable.

Magnus and Even are already complaining about the composition, Mahdi calls bullshit because they haven’t gotten past the movie companies’ logos yet. Isak leans his head down on Jonas’ shoulder who accommodates him easily, then presses his toes into Even’s thigh.

Even doesn’t even flinch, just curls his fingers around Isak’s ankle, squeezing him once before he pulls his feet fully onto his lap. He’s laughing at something Mahdi said, and even in the horrible lighting the TV provides he’s the most beautiful thing Isak has ever seen.

“You alright, man?” Jonas whispers when the opening title music starts.

Isak nods, lets himself finally breathe completely easy at once. “Yeah. Better than alright. I’m great. I’m really, really great.”

Jonas grins back at him. “That’s ‘ _great_ ’,” he teases, but Isak knows he means it.

 _It really is_ , he silently agrees as Even’s thumb draws circles along his ankle joint. _It’s better than, even_. It’s just really, _really_ great.

It’s dark, but Isak can still tell when Even smiles at him.

Isak grins back.

**_ Past _ **

Isak flunks every single one of his exams. He only finds out about it because he gets an email that tells him he needs to manually sign up for his second out of three attempts, it won’t be done automatically.

Whatever, Isak thinks, letting the roar of the crowd swallow him whole. He’ll just re-sit come February. It’s fine.

OOOOO

It’s less fine when Isak isn’t drunk anymore.

He’s stuck on the results page, sees the list documenting his failure, wouldn’t be able to look away even if he wanted to. His fingers itch to get a drink in them, but Isak just keeps sitting at his desk in front of his computer, staring at the screen.

This isn’t Isak.

Isak isn’t sure who he is anymore, hasn’t been for months now, but he does know that _this_ isn’t him.

It’s not like Isak believes he’s only worth the number of his grade, but this – Isak isn’t stupid. He isn’t unable to understand the material he’s supposed to have spent the months between September and January learning. _This_ isn’t _him_.

It would be easier to just get a drink. Much easier. That’s probably why Isak has been doing it for so long, deflecting from everything and using it to hide away.

When Isak pushes himself away from the laptop, it’s not to grab his jacket that’s now definitely too thin for the weather and find a bar or a club somewhere. It’s to dig out his textbooks from underneath his bed where he’d put them right after purchasing them and hasn’t moved them since.

And when he sits back down again, he keeps the tab with his grades open, but he also opens Canvas so he can see the slides from the lectures and the assignments from the tutorials.

For the first time since starting at university, Isak cracks open his cell and molecular biology book and starts to read.

OOOOO

Isak has got a headache the first time he attends a lecture when second term has started.

Not as earsplitting painful as the hangover-headaches had been, mind you, but it’s still there and he isn’t able to ignore it.

He knows quitting drinking cold turkey can be a bit of a dangerous approach, but Jonas’ eyebrows had been furrowed an uncomfortably large amount when he’d caught Isak sipping a beer at seven in the morning, so Isak had gotten out of bed this morning and headed to his lecture hall with a headache instead.

Turns out that lectures are a lot of fun when you don’t go there as a means to pass the time or when you’re hung-over as fuck. It’s a lot of fun, actually, and it’s so interesting Isak actually forgets to take any notes, he’s _that_ captured by the professor.

He ends up spending an hour and a half on campus afterwards. He finds an unpopulated nook and scrambles with the keys to get down everything he remembers.

And then feels actually good about himself once he’s done. It’s a novel feeling, if Isak is being honest. That would be a novelty as well, technically.

OOOOO

Isak is honestly surprised that the light in his desk lamp hasn’t blown up yet from the sudden switch between having never been used to suddenly never getting a break.

He types up another definition, changing the format of certain words so they’re easier to spot when he scrolls through, then grabs his pencil to write it down on a flashcard.

Two knocks sound on his door.

“Hey,” Mahdi sticks his head in.

Isak immediately lowers his head, focusing on his scratchy handwriting instead. “Hey.”

“We’re going over to the Union,” Mahdi explains, nodding his head in the direction of the front door. “Want to join?”

Isak grimaces. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hang out with Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus, it’s more that he doesn’t get why they would bother inviting him along. He pushed Mahdi, he’s constantly snapping at Magnus because of his complete inability to take a hint and _shut up_ about Even whilst Isak is there, and Jonas is clearly frustrated with his behavior.

“Sorry,” he says, voice cracking. “I can’t.”

Mahdi nods, doesn’t look surprised, but he also doesn’t look relieved. Isak doesn’t know what any of it means. “It’d be cool if you came, though. When was the last time you took a break?”

Isak shrugs instead of replying. He can’t remember. He thinks he might’ve forgotten to eat dinner as well, now that he’s thinking about it, so going to the Union is definitely a ‘ _no_ ’, then. He’ll fuck up everything if he drinks something on an empty stomach.

“It wasn’t a big deal, last time,” Mahdi sighs, “If that’s what you’re thinking about. Why you’re saying no. It’s _fine_.”

Isak winces. It really isn’t fine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m not like that –“

Mahdi rolls his eyes. “We _know that_ , Isak, otherwise we wouldn’t be putting this much fucking effort into getting you to go out with us again.”

 _Oh_. Isak flushes a bit, hopes he just looks warm from the scorching light of his desk lamp. “I’m kind of on a roll right now, though. Maybe next time. And I promise I won’t get violent.”

Mahdi points faux-threateningly at him. “Next time, then, Valtersen. We won’t take no for an answer.”

OOOOO

The thing about alcohol that makes it so tempting isn’t the feeling of letting go of your inhibitions, or your sense of reality slipping away until you feel like the impossible is possible. It had provided him with a blissful numbness.

Isak isn’t numb anymore.

So it had been about wanting to not feel anything, and then it had been about how it made it easier to forget.

Or, not forget, because he never did that, not really, but it made it easier to not constantly think about it.

Now that he isn’t drinking anymore, he has to actively _not_ think about it, but actively _not_ thinking isn’t easy at all.

Studying only goes so far. Memorizing and focusing on the coursework helps, but only temporarily. It all – Even, papers, signatures, secrets, lying, the shame, and the guilt, and the loneliness – stays with him now that he doesn’t have a method to make it go away – even if it’s in the background, it’s still _there_.

And it weighs so heavily on Isak’s shoulders. It leaves him absolutely exhausted to keep up the charade, to make it seem like, _no_ , _nothing is the matter, everything is fine_ and like he actually has managed to get his life in order, when it really feels like he’s about to fall apart as easily as he did back in May when the fantasy world he’d lived in came crumbling down on top of him.

It all leads to sleepless nights and sleepless nights lead to Isak steadily going out of his _mind_.

Pent up emotions seem to be treading lightly the edge of keeping it in and _bursting_ out of him, and Isak can’t let that happen, he _can’t_. Not only does he _still_ not _want_ anyone to know anything about him, not like that, but now if something _were_ to slip out he wouldn’t have Even to fall back on. He’d be alone, and a lot more alone than he already is right now.

Isak fucking _hates_ being alone.

But he also doesn’t have a clue how to actually do anything to fix it. Focusing on his studies clearly doesn’t work. Drinking _had_ worked, but he can’t start that shit again, because that’ll lead to him spiraling so far down he’ll never climb back up again. Talking to someone about it is out of the question.

Which means he’s out of options. And getting more frantic which each passing day to just figure out _something_ so he won’t accidentally spill over and ruin everything he’s built up so far.

“Are you okay?”

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t someone who asks Isak that, but _Isak_ who asks Eva.

Her eyes are red and puffy, she’s obviously been crying, but now she’s apparently moved on from being sad to being _angry_.

She softens a bit when she sees Isak, though.

“Hey,” she mutters, shoulders slumping. “Jonas isn’t here?”

Isak shakes his head. “No, he’s on the grocery run this week, drew the short straw.” They have a rotational shift schedule, but Isak is just really good at getting out of doing his share of the workload. Instead, he repeats, “Are you okay?”

Eva shrugs, but her bottom lip is quivering. “It’s just Jonas being an asshole,” she explains, the anger suddenly coming back. “It’s not like I don’t know you guys smoke, okay? I don’t know why he insists on lying to me about it, because it just makes me feel like shit and paranoid – because if he’s lying about that, what else is he lying about, you know?”

Isak doesn’t know. They’d made it a point not to lie to each other, not when they were lying to everyone else.

Then again, Isak is _here_ , by himself for the rest of his life, so what does he know. “Do you want me to yell at him when he comes back?” he offers.

Eva laughs a little snottily, but it’s real enough. “No. I had a good cry about it. That always helps, doesn’t it?”

Isak hasn’t cried since he packed up his stuff and whatever belongings of Even’s that he hadn’t been able to part with. Maybe that – maybe. Maybe it isn’t all too terrible an idea.

“Anyway,” Eva shrugs, seemingly calmer now that she’s gotten some of it out of her system. “I’ll just – talk to him later, I guess.” She leans in and gives Isak a hug. “Takk, Isak.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, not paying attention because his head is stuck somewhere else.

In a shoebox-sized apartment in Oslo that two people had shared before one of them had gotten a better offer, to be precise.

Crying hadn’t fixed anything, hadn’t felt like the catharsis Eva had been talking about – it had just made him feel sweaty and disgusting and utterly pathetic, and had just about cemented the fact that Even wasn’t coming back, because why the fuck would he when _this_ was what he’d be coming back to.

But Isak is desperate, and _this_ is an option that Isak _knows_ won’t be difficult to attempt, not with all these emotions swirling around inside of him, too close to flooding.

He just needs one thing, and that thing he’s got hidden away in his room, so he walks back inside, going directly over to draw the curtains.

Isak isn’t the one who left. He’s the one who fucked up and made Even stop loving him, yes, but he can’t keep going like this. He shouldn’t keep punishing himself over it; it’ll never stop if he continues like that.

He’s still pissed at Even, absolutely _furious_ , but the hurt is the most prominent feeling now that he’s sober, and the gut-wrenching _hurt_ is the emotion that wins out.

It takes a while, because Isak had shoved the box into the very back of his closet for a _reason_ – that he never wanted to see any of that shit again, but now he _does_. He _wants it_ , and it takes ages to dig through overdue laundry and random items he’d forgotten he still had.

And then the box is there, with a layer of dust accumulated where it hadn’t been covered.

They’ve been left untouched since Isak stashed them there, and he honestly can’t really remember packing them either, so he’s a bit startled when he opens them up and sees the absolute _disarray_ that it’s in.

Most of the things he doesn’t even remember Even _owning_ , and then there are a few camera lenses that have cracked from neglect – Isak doesn’t know why he grabbed them, doesn’t remember, but feels very stupid that he didn’t at least also grab the _camera_ they go with.

Isak isn’t interested in the cameras or the lenses or the drawings. Right there, not at the very bottom, but far down enough that Isak had started to get worried that he hadn’t packed it, that he’d misremembered, that he’d left it behind for Even to have or throw out, is Even’s hoodie. The one Isak had practically stolen and never given back, and Even had let him because it was his favorite thing to see Isak in his clothes and he’d loved giving him long hugs so he could just enjoy the soft material as well.

It’s still soft, despite having been mistreated so badly for months now. The drawstrings have still retained the color of the paint. It doesn’t smell like Even, probably because Even hasn’t been near it for over a year, now. Doesn’t even smell of Isak, if he’s honest. Smells of dust more than anything.

But Isak doesn’t need to scent to feel like a freight train has run him over.

This is a moment where he’d resort to alcohol, but he can’t do that now, not like this, not over a stupid _hoodie_. He’s been doing better and he won’t let it be ruined by this fucking _weakness_ of his.

So instead he scoots over on the floor until he reaches his laptop, opens Spotify and presses _shuffle_ and _play_ and turns it up louder than _vibe-guy_ has ever played his music.

Next, he locks his door. And when that doesn’t feel like enough, he tries to push his desk in front of it.

Which turns out to be a complete _fail_ because the desk has been nailed into the wall. So Isak pushes his bed instead and hides away in the corner it had stood in.

The opening of the song hasn’t even settled into the first chorus before the tears are streaming down his cheeks and breathing is ten times harder than it’s ever been.

It’s ugly, and Isak feels horrible all throughout it. His nose clogs up and he can’t see through his blurry vision. His speakers are blaring happy pop songs that Even would’ve _loved_ – which just makes it _worse_ – and he needs it to be loud enough that no one can hear him through the door or the walls, but that leaves him with a headache.

It doesn’t make it impossible to hear the intermittent pounding on the door when people desperately want for him to _stop_ making all of that noise.

For all that Isak feels the positively worst he’s felt in a long time, he also isn’t ready for this to stop. Not yet.

The hoodie is crumbled up in his sweaty hands. There are spots darkening the material that Isak can tell come from his tears. And then another set of spots from his tears when it had gotten so intense Isak was certain people would be able to hear him over the music.

When the tears stop falling and his breath stops hitching and the headache from getting too little oxygen into his system has settled in, Isak wouldn’t say he feels better, per se, but he doesn’t feel as frazzled.

Still, this was the last time he’ll do this, he promises himself. He won’t spend any more time crying over an idiotic past. He’s _done_.

OOOOO

“Is that a new hoodie?”

“No. Just recently stumbled upon it whilst I was cleaning.”

“Cool.”

OOOOO

Isak does end up going out with them the next time. It’s a Friday evening, he’s just finished his first re-exam, and he doesn’t feel completely awful. It’s nice.

He’d had a beer with the boys before they left the house, and the mix of the warm, pleasant buzz inside of him and the not bitingly cold spring air not making it feel like his jacket is way too thin for this time of year leaves him in a good mood.

They head to the Union, because there’s a deal going on – like there isn’t always a deal going on in a place catering to poor university students – but it’s not like Isak is going to buy more than a beer, so what does he care where they end up.

He should’ve cared a bit more, he realizes once they’re in the midst of the crowd and barely able to hear each other speaking, and Magnus has slunk off to talk to some girl, Mahdi has just disappeared ,and Jonas has gone to the bathroom, leaving Isak all by himself.

Isak hasn’t gotten any better at being by himself, and being in a place like _this_ isn’t helpful in the slightest.

Just because he had a proper cry about it doesn’t mean that Isak is okay. As much as he tries to fool himself into believing it, the hurt is buried so deeply inside of him Isak doubts he’ll ever _really_ be okay.

And standing here surrounded by people who are happy and having fun when Isak has to work so hard just to feel _one_ of those emotions, even harder without the aid of _something extra_ , is way harder than allowing himself to have that cry had been.

He should leave. He’s about to find one of the guys – Mahdi or Jonas, because they’ll make the smallest scene when Isak tells them he’s getting out of there – when a hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“There you are,” Jonas says, dragging Isak backwards towards him and towards the exit. “It’s way too crowded in here, we’re bailing.”

Isak has grabbed his jacket and is waiting by the entrance before Magnus and Mahdi have had the chance to get their stuff ready. Magnus is wearing one of Mahdi’s shoes, apparently, which Isak isn’t sure how they managed to pull off.

It takes them five minutes of jumping around once they’ve gotten outside, Magnus wobbling on one foot because he doesn’t want to dirty his socks, before they manage to switch back around and get on their way.

“Fuck, she was so pretty, though,” Magnus complains, throwing his head back and groaning when he recalls just what the girl he’d been talking to had looked like.

The guilt churns in Isak’s stomach. He should’ve just told them he was heading out, that they didn’t need to come with him. It was obvious it hadn’t been too crowded for _them_. Just for Isak.

Mahdi huffs out a laugh. “I saw her, too. Trust me, you didn’t stand a chance. You should be thanking us for saving you from a fate of humiliation.”

“Hey!” Magnus protests halfheartedly, scuffing the tip of his shoe against the asphalt, then nearly tripping in the process.

Isak hadn’t seen the girl, and he does know of Magnus’ track record, but that isn’t the point that keeps the guilt swirling inside of him.

“Where are we off to?” he asks instead. He shoves his hands into his pockets, curling them up into fists as he waits for the answer.

Jonas shrugs. “What’s the rush for?”

Isak doesn’t reply. He hasn’t got an answer, doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows why they left and that he doesn’t get why they did that for him.

He expects for them to head into the bar close by that also caters to poor students, seeing as they’re headed towards it, but they pass right by it. And they pass by the next one. And the next one. The guilt makes Isak feel heavier and heavier with each step they take.

“ _Gutter_!” Magnus points excitedly before bounding over to the walkway with an iron handrail. “This is fucking _perfect_.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Mahdi calls out after him.

“I need one of you, I’m having my _Titanic_ -moment!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jonas laughs, hiding his face behind his hands as his shoulders shake from laughter. “Get down, you idiot, you’ll fall off and end up in a coma!”

Magnus sticks his foot between two guards, stepping up. “Then come over here and hold me like one of your French girls!”

 _Paint_ , Isak doesn’t correct. _Paint me like one of your French girls_.

“He’s fucking insane,” Mahdi laughs. Isak tries not to flinch at the word.

“I’ll go,” Jonas volunteers, jogging over so he can climb up behind Magnus. He barely manages to stay up, though, from the giggling. “This is so gay.”

Magnus spreads his hands out when he’s sure Jonas has gotten a hold of himself. “I can’t hear you over how much _I’m flying, Jack_!”

“You’re an idiot,” Isak tells him once he and Mahdi get close enough. “You couldn’t have just done the _I’m the king of the world_ instead?”

“Do you know what, _Isak_?” Magnus sasses. “It sounds like you’re jealous that I found myself a Jack and you _haven’t_.”

“I’m out,” Jonas laughs, jumping off the railing, giggling like mad when Mahdi has to dive forward to catch Magnus to keep him from actually braining himself into a coma.

“Idiots,” Isak complains, but he’s laughing as well. “Fucking idiots, all of you.”

They don’t go to another bar or a club or even to buy something to drink in the 24-hours open store that they pass. Isak doesn’t try and lie to himself as a reason why not, but the tiny spark of happiness it ignites is enough to quell down the guilt a little bit. That, and the fact that they end up making Magnus laugh so hard he has to sit down lest he starts to pee his pants.

Mahdi throws bird seeds at him, which none of them know where or when he got a hold of, but it just makes the situation worse. Or better, depending on if you see it from Magnus’ bladder control point of view or judge it by how easy it is for Isak to breathe.

OOOOO

Isak aces every single one of his exams. Both the ones he’d had to re-sit, and then the next ones.

He did it. He actually fucking did it.

He sits and stares at the results-page on his laptop, can’t stop looking at the row of _perfect_ grades that aren’t supposed to define how good of a person Isak is, but right now the rows of numbers are the only tangible proof that Isak is actually getting better. That he might in fact be worth something.

He likes that feeling. He’s not going to let it slip away from him again, he’s going to fight to keep feeling like this.

Isak is going to get better. That’s a promise he makes himself that he intends on keeping.

OOOOO

“We’ve been looking into a couple of apartments.”

They’re leaving. He’s finally somewhat figured out how to do this, how to live without – how to live and how to make friends and they’re already _leaving_.

“Oh?” he asks nonchalantly, or he hopes it comes across nonchalantly and not absolutely terrified. “Found anything?”

Jonas nods, taking a sip of his beer. He sits down on the railing of the balcony they’re on. Isak can’t remember whose house they’re at – not because he’s had too much to drink to remember where he’s at, but because Magnus had been the one who knew about the party and his explanation of _how_ he knew about was just too long for Isak to pay attention from start to finish.

He knows all about how this person’s mama used to have a goldfish collection when she was a kid, but he doesn’t know who actually owns the house. Figures.

“Yeah. A four bedroom, not too far from campus. A tram stop or two.”

“That’s cool,” Isak says, hopes it doesn’t sound as detached as he feels.

They’re leaving. They’re actually leaving. Isak should be used to people leaving him by now, but he _isn’t_. He really, really isn’t.

“Yeah,” Jonas agrees, but there’s something to the tone of his voice, something that forces Isak out of the protective bubble he’d already started to build up so he can look dubiously at him. “That fourth room isn’t the living room, by the way.”

Isak blinks.

Then he blinks again, still not saying anything. He can’t say anything, because if he gets it wrong he won’t be able to handle it.

Jonas rolls his eyes. “Christ, man, are you really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Isak doesn’t hesitate, because _yes_ , he needs to hear it. Not for the reason that Jonas obviously thinks – that he’s teasing or self-centered and wants the confirmation that they’d be _honored_ to share a living space with him, but because it doesn’t _fit_ in his head why on earth they would want to share a living space with _him_.

“Isak,” Jonas starts. Isak barely hears it, his heart pounding too fast and beating too loudly. “Would you mind paying the rent until we can find a fourth roommate?”

“Asshole,” Isak knocks his knee against Jonas’ foot, but it comes out too soft, a little too out of breath for Jonas’ eyes not to soften and his teasing grin to smooth into something a little more sincere.

“Seriously,” Jonas ensures him. “Would you like to?”

 _Yes_ , Isak should say, because he does. _Yes, yes, yes_ should be the only word coming out of his mouth.

“Why?” comes out instead.

If Jonas is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “You’re trying,” Jonas takes another a sip of his beer. “And we like you. We really like you, man.”

Isak tries to blink the tears out of his eyes.

“But if we’re doing this, you can’t fall back into your old ways.”

Isak feels cold despite the warm summer air. “I won’t.”

Jonas looks a bit dubious, but he just nods. “Do you want to do this, then?”

There are tears prickling in the corners of Isak’s eyes, and he just hopes he can blame the dry wind or the beer or something, anything, that isn’t something finally going Isak’s way.

“Yeah, bro,” he sounds choked up. “Yeah.”

Jonas grins and holds his hand out for Isak to shake. “Let’s do this then.”

And Isak is smiling, actually smiling – full-on grinning and _meaning_ it, and he’s moving in with Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus and it all feels too good to be true.

He folds his hand into Jonas’, and Jonas tightens his grip so much Isak almost thinks they’re going in for that awkward bro-side-hug when all Jonas does is ensure Isak can’t draw back until he gets out the rushed, “And you have to be nicer to Magnus.”

Isak dramatically rips his hands out of Jonas’ hold and groans and whines and moans that _none_ of it is worth it if _that’s_ what it takes while Jonas cackles and nearly falls over the railing, and Isak is nearly giggling so hard he can’t pull him back down.

Magnus and Mahdi find them lying in a heap on the balcony, giggling like fools.

Mahdi does look at Isak dubiously for a couple of seconds, like he’s expecting for him to be so out of it again despite the fact Isak hasn’t had anything harder than beer the last couple of months.

Whatever he’s looking for, Isak passes the test, and both Magnus and Mahdi grin as they fold themselves around him and Jonas. Magnus starts pointing up at the sky, telling stories about the signs, and both Isak and Mahdi call bullshit whilst Jonas tries to spin everything that comes out of Magnus’ mouth in a claim why the government is shit.

And Isak is moving in with these idiots.

He hasn’t been _bad_ for months now, hasn’t done something he’d regret the next morning and hasn’t done something that would make him forget everything that had happened prior to waking up. He’s better than that, now he just needs to get better concerning everything else.

He can feel it; lying on a balcony at some house party he doesn’t know the hosts of, and he can just _feel_ it. It feels like a turning point of some kind, like this is the moment things will actually start to get better, to get easier.

It’s not like all of his problems have suddenly disappeared. He still gets mornings where it doesn’t seem worth it to get up, still has moments where he just _hurts_ so much he doesn’t remember how to breathe. And then there is the fact that the boys he’s decided are worth betting on don’t know that he’s not actually hooking up with girls left and right, don’t know he isn’t interested in girls at all. They don’t know why he got so bad in the first place.

But he’s moving in with these three idiots he’s ready to call his best friends, and he’s passed his exams with flying colors, and he’s signed up for his third semester, one year closer to getting his degree, and he can _feel_ it.

This is going to be _his_ year. Isak swears he’s going to do everything in his power to make it happen.

This is going to be _his_ year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624531262842994688/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it. What a journey.
> 
> Written to "Architecture" by Maisie Peters. Should it have been written to "Something Great"? Probably 😛
> 
> In case you don't follow me on tumblr, both [ playlist](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624827209277931520/playlist-for-i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too) and [ cover art](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624826988509773824/did-i-intend-on-finally-typing-out-the-playlist) has been made.

**_ Epilogue _ **

“And we’re here on the red-carpet tonight, live for the premiere of Even Bech Næsheim’s new movie, ‘ _Yellow Curtains: All the Different Universes_ ’. And here is the man himself!”

The interviewer is wearing a sparkly dress and is waving for Even to come closer, even as he’d already been instructed that this was the woman he was supposed to talk to.

“Good evening,” he grins into the horribly big microphone she’s struggling to hold up.

It’s loud – a lot of people having shown up for the grand return of _Even Bech Næsheim_ , and Even has to lean close to the microphone and the lady.

“It’s so exciting to have you back and to be here tonight! A lot of people have been looking forward to this moment.”

Even nods. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for this moment too, so I get it. It’s really awesome. I never get used to this feeling.”

“Now, fans have been speculating about the plot of this movie ever since the title dropped. Can you tell us what to expect?”

“I saw that! They were talking about how it could be about time travelling.”

She looks at him expectantly.

“It isn’t, but, hey, that’s another movie idea, right?”

“How about something else, then?”

“Um,” Even hesitates, scratching at his neck. “I don’t know? I mean, I want for people to watch the movie with an open mind so that they can be swept away by the story as much as possible and allow them their own interpretations and why a story like that is important to them.”

“So it’s an emotional movie?”

Even laughs. “I don’t know about that. I’ll probably cry, but that’s because it’s a story very dear to me, close to my heart, you know. I don’t _want_ to make anyone cry.”

She grins. “I’m not so sure about that. Your track record says differently, Mr. Næsheim.”

Even laughs. “That’s true. But I think if this movie _does_ make anyone cry, hopefully it’ll be a different kind of crying than that.”

“So it’s _actually_ a happy film?” she attempts, but Even doesn’t bite.

“Can’t tell you that,” he winks, laughing when she rolls her eyes at him good-naturedly.

“Well, there’s certainly been a lot of hype about this movie. It’s one of the only movies this year with a trailer that revealed absolutely nothing about the plot, did you know that?”

“I did!” Even grins. “I’ve been made aware of it, repeatedly, by a lot of people online.”

“I can’t imagine it went over well.”

“Well, at least they’re looking forward to finally finding out what it’s about.”

“I think a lot of people are excited – look at everyone here! It’s quiet a grand return you’ve made!”

“It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Even grins shyly. “But a lot of them were involved in the making of the movie.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she chides, which is true enough, because a lot of people had shown an interest in Even’s movies before his ‘ _break_ ’.

She doesn’t ask about that, though, either by human decency or because someone briefed her, but they both know that some of the hype is due to a lot of old gossip resurfacing.

“But it _is_ a very long cast-list. And it’s such a diverse cast as well,” she prompts, giving the microphone back to him.

“It is,” Even agrees. “I don’t want to spoil the movie too much, but there was a big need for so many people to be involved. And they all did so wonderfully, I’m so proud of them.”

“A lot of them are meeting for the first time tonight,” she points out. “How is that possible?”

“Different filming schedules?” Even laughs. “I don’t know. Well, I do know, but I can’t say.”

“You’re really not giving anything away tonight,” she laughs.

“ _You_ , on the other hand, are grilling me _relentlessly_.”

“It’s my job!” she protests lightly. “You said earlier that it’s a story that’s close to your heart, what did you mean by that?”

“Oh, uh –“ Even lets out a breathy laugh, his voice going a little thick. “Well, first of all, it’s a way for me to support and celebrate the equality act. And, uh, the story in itself – it’s actually about something my husband said to me when we were young. It ended up being a real comfort to me the years we were apart.”

Her stance goes a little softer at that. “So this is really a story to him?”

Even laughs. “All of my films have been to Isak, this will just be the first one where no one will be able to doubt it.”

She tilts her head. “Oh? Oh – speak of the devil, look who’s joining us!”

“Baby!” Even laughs, voice barely audible as he turns around to catch Isak around his middle as he walks past. “Halla.”

Isak grins up at him shortly before he turns his attention towards the woman. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she smiles back at him. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh?”

“Good things only,” Even promises, but the look Isak gives him reveals he isn’t completely buying it.

“Sentimental things,” the interviewer corrects. “Your husband has been very stingy with the details of this film.”

“ _Right_?” Isak exaggerates. “I haven’t gotten a single word about it out of him yet.”

She scrounges up her nose. “Are you telling me _you_ don’t know what tonight entails, either?”

Isak shakes his head. “He’s refused to tell me. He’s just been bouncing around the house, seconds away from telling me because he’s so excited, and then he’ll snap his mouth shut and walk away so he doesn’t give in to the temptation. He won’t even give me a hint.”

“You’ll _know_ if I give you a hint, though!” Even protests, but Isak’s focus doesn’t waver from the woman except to roll his eyes. “Besides, I _promise_ you’ll like it.”

“Shut up,” Isak demands, not able to hide away the utterly smitten look on his face even as he manages to pull off a faux-serious expression. “I’ll _love_ it,” he corrects him, much to Even’s amusement.

“I love _you_ ,” Even tells him. The golden band on his finger catches the light when he runs his fingers through Isak’s hair gently.

Isak doesn’t manage to hide his smile this time around.

OOOOO

[ _On a black background, two quotes are typed out:_

_“According to ‘M’ theory, ours is not the only universe. Instead, ‘M’ theory predicts that a great many universes were created out of nothing.” – Stephen Hawking_

_“As scientists, we track down all promising leads, and there’s reason to suspect that our universe may be one of many – a single bubble in a huge bubble bath of other universes.” – Brian Greene_ ]

[ _The opening shot is a blue sky, just a hint of pink and yellow from the start of a sunset. In the background the ocean quietly lapping against the shore is just audible._ ]

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“The universe. Like, how big it is.”

“You mean the universe that’s infinite for an infinite amount of times?”

“Shut up,” he laughs. “I mean that it holds so many possibilities within itself, you know?”

“How so?”

“Like – for every possible action, there’s a universe out there where the opposite happened. Or one where just something different happened. Or one where it never got far enough to get to that point.”

“Parallel universes.”

“Exactly!”

“Why are you thinking about that?”

“Don’t _you_ ever think about that?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

“What were you thinking about it for?”

“I was… I was thinking about the people I’m the closest to. I was thinking about you and me.”

[ _A handheld camera showing off an apartment; the bed is unmade, blue-striped bed sheets tousled and with indents in the pillows from two people having just left the bed. The curtains are a dark blue that manage to hold the sunlight out, but in another room the morning sun is coloring the kitchen in a warm, golden light, accentuating the mess of half-finished coffee cups, cereal bowls in the sink, and a blue hoodie slung over the back of a chair._ ]

“What have we got to do with parallel universes?”

“Just – how big everything is. Like, everything that can happen is going to happen. Not only going to, it _is_ happening. And I just – I’d like to think that there are universes out there where _everything_ could be different, but we’d still be the same, you know? Where I still feel the same as I do right now, here, with you.”

[ _The same apartment, but this time tiny details are different, changing the over-all appearance. The curtains in the bedroom are yellow, meaning the entire room is lit up. There are two glasses of orange juice instead of coffee. The hoodie is grey. The image flickers, the hoodie changes into a t-shirt with a printed picture of Jesus on the crucifix just visible. There are scrambled eggs instead of cereal. The kitchen chair is pushed neatly against the table. The curtains are black so the sunlight hasn’t disturbed their sleep, you can just make out two people still in bed._ ]

“So there’s a universe where we meet when we’re still in high school?”

[ _A boy is sitting in a school’s cafeteria with his friends, picking apart his lunch. When he looks up, he sees a boy sitting at the opposite end of the room. Their eyes meet. The boy hurries to look away, but the other boy keeps looking._

 _In a different place, two people bump into each other in the most cliché high school-setting possible; in front of the lockers. They both drop their books on the floor, and when they look up, their eyes meet and time seemingly stops. The next couple of shots are the same two people walking together, first in school, then clearly on their way home, then in the dark, walking away from a party. There are awkward, fumbled first kisses and shy looks and feeling like you’re flying higher than a bird and then crashing down with a hundred miles an hour until the two manage to find their way back to each other again._ ]

“Exactly! Or one where we’re at university.”

[ _A boy with thick-rimmed glasses is sitting on one of the rows, notebooks laid out fastidiously, one of them already opened so he can take notes. Then another boy crashes into the room, obviously seconds away from being late, a little out of breath. He throws himself onto the closest seat that isn’t occupied, the one next to the boy._

_“I’m not late, am I?”_

_“Close. How can you be late, already? It’s the first day.”_

_The guy grins widely, leans in like he’s about to tell the boy a secret. “I guess you’ll have to get to know me to find out.”]_

“Or one where we meet when we’re kids?”

[ _There’s a child, sitting on the curb of the playground, crying over a cut on their knee. It’s not bad, but it must look scary to a three-year-old, especially one who isn’t being comforted. At least not until another child walks past, sees the kid, stops and starts talking until the sniffling stops. The next couple of clips are artistically shot, with the sun creating lens flares and discoloring the pictures, giving off the warm, nostalgic feeling people get when thinking back on happy moments._ ]

“I like that one. That there’s a life where I don’t know what it’s like to be without you. That’s a nice thought.”

“Do I take good care of you in that one, do you think?”

“You take care of me in every universe, doofus.”

“In every single one?”

[ _All the different universes with the first meetings between two people_.]

“Well – I suppose there must be a universe where we never meet.”

[ _Cross-shot of two pictures depicting very different locations, the first one set in a rural area, the other in the city. It switches to new contrasting locations, flying faster than the eye can make out anything other than how unalike they are to each other_.]

“That’s the saddest one.”

“Nah.”

“You don’t think so?” the disbelief evident in his voice.

“No. The saddest one is the one where we _do_ meet. We just don’t notice when it happens.”

[ _Following a group of people, all shot waist down. They’re walking down the street clearly messing around, when they pass by another group of people. Two hands slide by each other, an inch of space left between them. They keep walking, not even turning around_.]

“That’s the saddest one,” he continues. “The one where we don’t even get the chance to become a ‘ _could’ve been_ ’ because the universe decided to label us as an ‘ _almost_ ’ instead.”

[ _Lots of ‘almost’s exists. Turning the corner at just the wrong time. Looking right first instead of left when crossing the street. Suddenly deciding to not try the new coffee shop anyway, not when the old one is closer and familiar._ ]

“Do you think… do you think there’s a universe where I don’t hurt you?”

[ _Screaming fights. Being forgetful about the other person and leaving them behind. A boy watching another boy kissing a girl as they slow dance at prom. A devastated look on a boy’s face as he’s told everything between them had been fake._ ]

“I mean… theoretically, yes. But it also means there’s a universe where I don’t hurt you. One where we don’t hurt each other.”

[ _Silently hurting. Introducing your childhood best friend to your new boyfriend. Leaving with no explanation._ ]

“But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That there isn’t a universe out there –“

[ _Playful kisses. timid handholding. two boys smoking weed as they sit on a windowsill. Quiet moments in bed._ ]

“– where this –“

[ _Tickle fights. Screaming their hearts and lungs out at concerts. Desperate kisses like the world is about to end._ ]

“– where _we_ –“

[ _Smitten looks that reveal how the other person is their entire world. Faces being lit up when they see each other. Their head resting on the other person’s shoulder as they fall asleep on the bus. Kissing underwater in a swimming pool_.]

“– aren’t worth it.”

[ _Black screen. Even’s voice sounds in Norwegian whilst the white text is in English_ ]

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you any of those universes. I’m sorry that we were ready for the universe before the universe was ready for us.”

[ _Nights at the bar with a row of empty shot glasses, another being poured already. Two different locations in the world, so far apart from each other. Stuffy meeting rooms. Lawyers handing over divorce papers only to receive absolutely devastated looks in response_.]

“I’m not sorry that I met you.”

[ _The picture Even took of the flowers for Isak shows up, followed by a shot of the street where Even had kissed Isak for the first time. It’s taken during the night, the streetlamps giving off a warm, yellow light. Isak and Even have been animated in, the cartoonish-outline contrasting the background and drawing the eye towards them._ ]

“I’m not sorry that I fell in love with you.”

[ _A clip plays of Isak; young-looking and floofy haired, looking down, but his face is split into the widest smile possible and he looks happy as he shyly glances up at Even behind the camera_.]

“I’m not sorry that I married you. That I got to love you.”

[ _Isak’s leaned back against Even who in turn is leaning up against the railing at the cabin, the sunset is coloring the both of them golden. Isak turns around so he can hug Even tightly._ ]

“I’m not sorry that we didn’t give up fighting when it would’ve been so much easier to let each other go.”

[ _A handheld camera filming a computer screen, showing the original article that first posted the rumor about a marriage certificate, and then later posting the certificate itself. An overhead shot of Isak and Even lying in bed, Even sleeping and Isak keeping an eye on him. Voiceover in Norwegian:_

_“Are you going to ask for a divorce after this? A real one this time?”_

_“No. I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to do that.”]_

“I’m not sorry that I get to call you ‘ _home_ ’.”

[ _It switches between pictures of a bed with blue-striped bed sheets, science textbooks with a camera balanced on top, clothes strewn messily across the floor, messy bed hair, and sparkling eyes when given a cup of tea. The sound of a door opening and closing is added in, Isak calling out in a voiceover as shoes tumbling onto the floor and a coat being removed scratches the audio, “Baby, er du hjemme?”_ ]

“I’m not sorry that I get to love you.”

[ _Even bounds onto the bed, startling Isak who is lying on his stomach, sorting through his notes for class._

_“Hva faen –“ Isak starts, but doesn’t get further before the hand Even isn’t using to hold the camera is on his side, digging in until Isak’s squirmed onto his back and Even can straddle him to keep him in place. “Why are you filming me?”_

_“I just need to film your reaction when I tell you something,” Even tells him, chortling at the suspicious look that immediately falls on Isak’s face._

_“What.”_

_Even’s hand appears in frame again, cupping Isak’s cheek._ _“Jeg elsker deg.”_

 _“Oh my god!”_ _Isak laughs, batting Even’s hand away so he can hide his face behind his hands. It does little to nothing to cover up how brightly he’s smiling. “You absolute sap, you.”_

_He gives up on hiding away, instead pushing his hips up so Even tumbles onto his side on the bed. Isak leaning in to kiss him is just visible in the corner of the frame. “Turn the camera off, Ev.”_

_Even hums, the sound of lips smacking audible as the camera keeps rolling. He pulls back so he can film Isak again._

_Isak, who isn’t even paying attention to the camera anymore, is instead clearly only seeing Even, looking impossibly soft as he does so. One hand moves up to smooth his thumb across Even’s jaw line._

_“Jeg elsker deg også.”_ ]

“I don’t care about the other universes. About whether or not the Even gets the Isak. I don’t care if there’s an Even who didn’t leave."

[ _The old apartment shot from inside the entrance to the building. A taxi is visible, the car door being shut audible before it drives off._ ]

“I care about _you_ , about _this_ Isak that I get to come home to, that I get to share my life with, that I get to love. This Isak, who loves me back, who wants to come home to me, who wants to share his life with me.”

[ _The scene shows one of the Movie Night-nights, the entire gang already set up in the living room, a spot left for Even on the couch next to Isak on the side that Eskild isn’t already occupying._

_Isak is the one who sees him first, groaning exaggeratedly when he notices the camera. “Why?” he drags out._

_Magnus looks around frantically to see what Isak is talking about. When his eyes land on Even they go unnaturally wide as he gasps. “Am I seriously being filmed by Even Bech Næsheim right now?”_

_“Shut up,” Isak moans, sinking deeper into the couch, but he’s laughing silently._

_“It’s such an honor,” Magnus continues, reaching a hand out for Even to shake. “Seriously, man, I’m, like, your biggest fan.”_

_“Is this planned?” Mahdi asks._

_“I’m leaving all of you,” Isak says when Even starts to enthusiastically shake Magnus’ hand, finally laughing out loud when Jonas hits him with one of the decorative pillows Eva had picked out._ ]

“I don’t care if the universe is ready or not for us anymore. If it is, that’s great. But if it isn’t –“

[ _Isak tilting his chin up stubbornly for Even to lean down and kiss him. Even smiling and talking excitedly as he tells Isak about an idea for a script, frowning when he notices Isak holding the camera before his face breaks out in the biggest smile possible and he pulls Isak into his arms. Lying in bed, Isak asleep on top of Even’s chest, Even leaning in to kiss his temple carefully as to not wake him up._ ]

“– then I’ll make it.”

[ _Three words appear against the black background, bold and a contrasting yellow._ ]

_ALT ER LOVE_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 363 pages. Thank you for everything xx
> 
> Check it out on my [tumblr](https://dutten-does-the-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/624888389246828544/i-want-you-here-with-me-is-it-too-much-to-ask-for)


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